


The Bet

by EllieRose101



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: F/M, Season/Series 06
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2020-05-23
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:00:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 25,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23738725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EllieRose101/pseuds/EllieRose101
Summary: If she wins, he leaves. If he wins, she tells her friends.
Relationships: Spike/Buffy Summers
Comments: 19
Kudos: 157





	1. Negotiation

“We missed the bed again.”

Spike propped himself up on his elbows a little to survey the damage they’d done to his crypt then grinned to himself. “Lucky for the bed,” he said decidedly. When he looked back at Buffy, she’d turned her attention to the floor.

“Is this a new rug?”

“No. It just looks different when you're under it.”

She looked contemplative, her eyes still skating over the place. “Not bad for a hole in the ground. You fixed it up.”

Pride swelled in his chest, foolish as it was. The praise wasn’t exactly the highest, and certainly not what he craved but, coming from Buffy, it was rare. And so, Spike treasured it, ignoring the itch to snark in return. “Well,” he replied smoothly, “I ate a decorator once. Maybe something stuck.”

Buffy smiled seemingly despite herself. “I've been thinking about doing something to my room.”

“Yeah?” He was looking at her as she spoke. Just taking her in and hoping it didn’t spook her. She was flightier than a fluffy bunny, these days. Not that it mattered. Didn’t take the shine off, any. As far as Spike was concerned, the Slayer was nothing short of breathtaking.

“Yeah,” she said, thankfully not noticing the intensity of his gaze. “I think the New Kids on the Block posters are starting to date me.”

Spike chuckled. “Well if you want, I can–” _Huh_. He broke off at the sudden realization they were having an actual conversation. New territory, that was.

“What?” said Buffy warily.

“Nothing,” he said, altogether too fast. Damn it, being casual didn’t last long. _Idiot._ Her eyes narrowed and he sighed. “I was just thinking it was nice to actually chat for a bit.”

“Oh.” Suddenly, she didn’t look so comfortable. He supposed that meant she hadn’t noticed until that point, either.

Spike cursed himself for his sudden perceptiveness. Before Buffy got up and started rooting around for her clothes, he jumped on the first question to enter his mind, hoping it would be enough to distract her.

“So, what do you think of the new telly listings, then?”

Buffy did pause, but only to look curiously at him. And maybe a little annoyed. “What are you doing?”

He shrugged. “Small talk.”

She shook her head. “We don’t do small talk, Spike.”

“Yeah, and why’s that?”

“Well, it’s just–” She gestured ineffectually. “We just don’t, okay?”

“No.”

“What?”

“It’s not okay.

Buffy rolled her eyes. “Whatever. Have you seen my bra?”

“Wait.” He put a hand on her shoulder. “Please.”

She blinked at him for a second, then glared at where his hand had settled against her skin. He pulled it back.

“Listen, what if–”

Buffy groaned, deep and heartfelt. “You just had to ruin it! Why? Why do you always do that?”

Spike leaned away, genuinely taken aback. “Buffy–”

“No,” she said, waving her hand dismissively. “Just forget it.”

He grit his teeth and stood up to start pulling his pants back on. “You know what, Slayer? If you don’t want to at least try and be civil, fine, but don’t shit on me for not giving up so easily. Bloody bint! You’d be complaining if I was an arse to you, but you can’t take it when I’m nice. Just what the fuck do you want, eh?” He pointed a finger. “I can’t win, but I think maybe you like it that way. Me bein’ wrong makes you that little bit more right, does it?”

Buffy’s mouth dropped open as she blinked at him again. He was actually panting after his diatribe.

“Well?” he challenged, shaking his head when she didn’t answer. Finding his cigarettes in his trouser pocket, he tapped one out and lit up. “Stuff this.”

“Spike, wait!” Buffy called after him, not getting up herself. Maybe the feeling hadn’t quite come back into her legs. That happened, sometimes. Particularly after the really athletic stuff. They could do a lot, when they worked together. Spike had never seen anything like it before. Never felt–

He stopped and forced his brain to refocus on the argument, hoping against hope she’d apologize and it would all be okay again. Fat bloody chance.

“Let’s not, okay?” said Buffy at last. “I just meant–”

“You just wanted to shut me down again is what you meant,” said Spike, turning to face her again. “Just what the bloody hell is the problem with actually talking for a bit? We can shag, but we can’t talk. Did you ever think about how fucking screwed that is?”

“Whoa!” said Buffy. “Calm down. Where did all of this come from?”

Spike bit his tongue to stop himself from breaking into another rant. After a few more deep breaths, he answered, fairly evenly, “It’s been coming for a while, you just happen to stop listening every time I say anything that’s not to your liking.”

“That is not true!” she exclaimed, deflating when Spike met her gaze, making it clear he wasn’t buying it. “Maybe I should go,” she added more softly.

“Yeah, maybe you should,” agreed Spike, starting on his second cigarette.

She stopped in her tracks again, however; pausing in finally disentangling herself from the rugs. “God, this is really bothering you, isn’t it?”

At a loss to find yet another way to tell her that, yes, it bloody well was, Spike glared at her.

“You’re serious,” Buffy continued. “You really mean it.”

_Christ but she was infuriating._ Losing the will to bite back his fury at her seemingly genuine bewilderment any longer, Spike rolled his eyes and lit up for the third time. No matter that he hadn’t finished the first two. “Yeah, Slayer,” he said, defeated. “I’m serious.”

“You really want me to go just because I don’t want to talk about television schedules?”

That got Spike’s blood up again. “No,” he answered, trying and failing to hold on to his delicate facsimile of calm. “Not just that.”

“So, what, then?” She stood up and put her hands on her hips before realization visibly dawned on her that she was naked. She reached for her top.

_“You just had to ruin it,”_ Spike mimicked, making her flush and look away again.

“Okay, I know how that sounds.”

“But you don’t,” Spike countered, “or you wouldn’t say it.” He reached into his cigarette packet and, finding it empty, tossed it aside. “Would it really hurt to just respect me? Just a little?”

Buffy pulled her t-shirt over her head, at first getting it backward, then having to wriggle around. “I just wanted to enjoy the afterglow, okay?”

Spike sat heavily on the edge of the bed. The conversation was exhausting, but it needed to happen. Plus, it had taken so long to get started that he was scared to table it in case the opportunity never came back around. He’d have to take it easy or she’d get skittish again, though.

“Come on, Slayer,” he pleaded, gesturing for her to sit beside him. “Who are you kidding?”

“Not you, apparently,” she answered, wearily looking at the offered place for a moment before apparently deciding to go for it.

Spike allowed himself a grin. “Glad we cleared that much up.”

Buffy sighed. “I don’t like feeling like this, you know.”

“What, guilty?” asked Spike. “Chastised? All you gotta do is stop bein’ such a bitch.” When Buffy’s eyes started searching the room for clothes again, it was his turn to apologize. “I’m trying, here,” he said. “What do you want me to do?”

Buffy shrugged. “There’s nothing you can do, we just don’t work.”

“Bollocks.”

“It’s true!”

“No. I don’t buy that. You haven’t even given us a chance.”

She sighed, getting up again to pace the crypt. “What chance could we possibly have, Spike? Honestly? You’re just in it for the sex and–”

“Now wait a bloody minute!” He, too, rose to his feet. “ _I’m_ only in this for sex? Me – the one who’s trying to get you to open up to more than just shagging?”

“I’m serious,” said Buffy.

Spike’s face screwed up as he considered her. She definitely looked serious. But how could that be? “You’re saying you don’t want to bother with anything else, because you think I don’t really want it?” he questioned, raising an eyebrow.

“Well, yeah,” said Buffy. “There’s, like, zero point. You might think you want more than this, but once you realize that there is nothing more – that we have nothing to talk about – then you’ll get bored.”

He rolled that around in his head for a bit, unpacking several parts. It almost sounded like she didn’t want him to get bored and was trying to prevent it. That was almost… sweet. Except the rest of it didn’t make a lick of sense.

“Give me a try,” he said, finally, making Buffy pout. “What? You’re serious, well, so am I. Let’s test your theory.”

“ _Spiiike._ ” She whined his name in a way he couldn't help loving.

“Do you wanna continue as we are?” he asked, changing tack.

Buffy reached for the corner of one of the bedsheets and twisted it around her fingers. “I don’t know what to say, Spike.”

“Okay…” he replied, cogs still whirring in his head. “How about we try out your little theory, and if it doesn’t work out, I promise that I won't lose interest – no harm no foul?”

A deep furrow appeared between Buffy’s eyes and she rubbed at it before throwing herself back down on the bed. “That wouldn’t work.”

“And why not?” Spike pressed. The way she was laid – across both sides of the double mattress – prevented him from laying beside her but that was probably for the best. Despite how much he wanted to say ‘fuck it’ and just get on with enjoying the feel of her underneath him again, he couldn’t afford to get distracted.

“How can you say you won’t lose interest when, if I’m right, that’s exactly what’s gonna happen?”

_Aha_ , thought Spike. _So at least some part of her doesn’t want me to bugger off entirely. Bloody good to know, that is._

“Because, Slayer,” he said aloud. “That’s how confident I am that I’m right.”

“Oh, like you’ve never been spectacularly wrong before,” snarked Buffy.

“Trust me,” said Spike, knowing he was pushing his luck. “Give me a chance to get to know me, and I promise you won’t be disappointed.”

Buffy returned to frowning. “So, what?” she questioned. “How would this ‘trial’ even work?”

Trying not to get too excited at her even just considering the plan, Spike reiterated, “You get to know me more – we _talk_. Hell, maybe even go on a proper date! – and become wowed by my sparkling personality. You won’t even wanna look back.”

“But how do we stop falling into old habits?” asked Buffy, making Spike grin so wide he felt his fangs itch. “We’d probably have to give up sex,” she finished.

Spike suddenly stopped smiling. “Howzat?”

“We’d have to stop sleeping together,” said Buffy, nodding to herself. “For the length of the experiment, I mean. It’s the only way to know if it’s really working.”

He opened and closed his mouth a few times. “Hmm.”

Buffy suddenly took on a mirrored look of concern. “You’re not sure at all, are you?”

“No. No, didn’t say that. Just gonna miss the sex, is all.”

“So. we’re gonna try this?” she asked, wearily.

“Let’s,” said Spike. “But I want a promise from you.”

“What?”

“If – no, scratch that – _when_ you discover I’m right and you’ve been fighting this for no good reason. When you realize just how good we can be and let yourself have it….”

“Yeah?” Buffy pressed.

“You have to tell your friends.”

She sat up, fiddling with the edge of the sheet again. “I don’t know, Spike.”

“But why not?” he questioned. “If we really do work, then what’s the harm? We’d be givin’ it a proper shot, wouldn't we? It’s not like you could do that while still keepin’ it a dirty little secret.”

“That’s a big if, Spike.”

“But don’t you see? That’s the beauty of it. If I’m wrong then no bother.”

“You said if you were wrong and all we had between us was sex we could still have the sex,” said Buffy.

“Well, yeah. But I’d stop pushing you for more.”

“You’d admit it was just a lust thing? After everything?”

“Sure,” said Spike. “But that’s not gonna happen.”

“No,” said Buffy suddenly.

“No?” he questioned.

“It’s not enough.”

“Eh?” He’d been so sure she was going for it.

“The stakes are pretty high on my end,” she said. “But if you lose, your life doesn’t really change all that much.”

Spike wanted to argue but knew it wouldn’t do much good. “What do you want?” he asked instead.

Buffy pondered it for a while. She avoided his gaze when she finally answered, “You leave.”

“What?”

She swallowed. “If you lose – if we try dating and it goes badly – you leave town.”

“Buffy–”

She looked up again, expression firm. “That’s it. That’s the deal. Take it or leave it.”

“Not really no harm no foul anymore, is it?” he commented.

“No,” she allowed. “But there’s no point staying like this. It can’t last.”

He frowned, knowing she wasn’t moving from that well-held belief any time soon. “How long?” he asked.

“Huh?”

“The experiment. The bet. How long are we giving it?”

“Oh. Um…. A week? No, wait, that’s too short. A month?”

Spike scoffed. “Like you could go a month without sex.”

“Oh yeah? What about you, Mr. Handcuffs?”

He glowered at her. “I’ve gone for longer than that before, Slayer.”

“How long?”

“Six years.”

“Whoa! What? What are you saying?”

He sighed, hating how she never let the dog go with the bloody bone. “Well, once I actually had sex for the first time,” he spelled out, “the longest I ever went without was six years.”

“But, how?” Buffy questioned, her mouth hanging open again.

Spike shrugged. “Dru went off it for a bit. After Angel came over all soul-having and left us.”

“A bit?” repeated Buffy, sitting up even straighter than before. “You said six years!”

Spike shrugged again, though it was getting harder to hide his discomfort. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you didn’t want to win this bet,” he mused, wanting to move the topic on. Or back. Any direction that wasn’t focused on his period of forced celibacy.

“I… well,” Buffy stammered, making no attempts to try and form a proper answer.

“Come on, then,” said Spike, offering her his hand.

She looked at it. “What’s that for?”

Spike rolled his eyes, reached forward, and pulled her up. “Get your togs, I’m walkin’ you home.”

“It’s like the middle of the day!” she protested, even while making a grab for one of her boots under the bed.

“We can take the sewer access.”

“Gee, I already feel more romance between us,” Buffy joked, finally locating her bra from the top of a lamp.

“Oh, I’ll show you romance,” Spike promised. “In an hour or two, when the sun goes down, I’ll come back ‘round. Dress for the movies and patrolling after.”

“Um, okay,” said Buffy nervously. “That doesn’t actually sound half bad.”

“See? Already goin’ better than you thought,” said Spike, decidedly smug. He had this in the can. There was no possible way it could backfire.


	2. First Date

Buffy was not freaking out. She looked in the mirror of her vanity, smoothed down her clothes, and absolutely did not see terror reflected in her eyes. Nope. None at all.

Why, _why_ had she agreed to Spike’s stupid plan? And why was she going through with it? Logically, she knew that she could just decide not to play after all, and he wouldn’t be able to force her hand otherwise. Yet… there was something stopping her. What, she didn’t exactly know. She just kept waiting to figure it out, and the knowledge hadn’t made itself known to her yet. And so she’d gotten dressed in the meantime. A pair of jeans and nice halter top. She expected Dawn or Willow to ask her why she was wearing perfume and her favorite lipstick, but when she ran into them in the hall, they barely looked at her.

And okay, that felt shitty. And Spike, for all his faults, had a weird way of making Buffy feel un-shitty. So suddenly she found herself wanting to get out of the house and see him. That’s probably all it was.

A date would be fine. Low key, seeing as how it was just a movie and patrolling. With the idea of sex off the table, it barely even counted as a date. It was more like… like just hanging out. Yeah. That was all. And that was fine. It would be fine.

Buffy reached the bottom of the stairs and looked at her front door, cursing herself for not getting a specific time out of Spike. All he’d said was ‘an hour or two. As soon as the sun goes down.’ But it had been forty-five minutes and dusk wasn’t for at least another seventy or eighty minutes and oh, god, what was she supposed to do? Sit waiting for him? Yeah, like that was gonna happen.

Her fingers itched to do something – anything – and she was considering going back upstairs to re-do her makeup when there was a light knock on the door. Buffy took one step toward it before it burst open and Spike barreled in, slightly-smoking blanket held tight over his head.

When he threw it down and smoothed back his hair, they stood staring at each other for a long moment. Then he grinned and Buffy shook her head.

“You’re crazy, you know that?”

“Oh, you love it.”

She bit her lip, not correcting him. “So, should I grab a jacket or are we waiting for you not to be flammable?”

“I got the car outside,” said Spike, which he seemed pleased about but didn’t actually answer her question. “Change of plan,” he added when Buffy continued to stare at him.

Something in her stomach jumped. _No,_ she thought, _don’t do this to me!_ “Why?” she asked aloud. Why did he always have to upset her carefully held expectations? It wasn’t like she asked for a lot.

“Don’t look so spooked, Slayer. I’m just takin’ you out.”

She bit down on the urge to call the whole thing off. Because what would that say about her? That she was a coward? Well, she reasoned, she probably was. The thought of going out with Spike and not knowing what to expect terrified her. And she was the Slayer, for godsakes.

“Fine,” she snapped, grabbing her jacket and opening the door for him. “Let’s go.”

\---

In the car, Buffy watched the shadows of trees pass the window and wished she could actually see out to appreciate them properly. The desire to suddenly escape – to tell Spike to keep driving and not stop until they were out of gas – snuck up on her, and she opened her mouth to voice the request when he pulled in somewhere and declared they’d arrived.

Okay, that was weird. It didn’t feel like they’d gone far at all. When she opened the car door, she saw why: because they really hadn’t gone far. Buffy stepped out into the shade of the parking lot of a diner. It was a really nice diner, but a diner all the same.

She glanced over at Spike, who was grinning again. “You took me out to eat?”

“Obviously.”

“Right.” _Because he didn’t consider I’d have already eaten, because a movie and patrolling doesn’t mean dinner, and humans kinda have to plan inconveniences like sustenance around their other plans, if their boyfriends don’t change their minds about plans without consulting them._

“I got all your favorites,” he said, like he was trying to coax her. Which probably meant he’d picked up on her annoyance.

Two different parts of the sentence flagged in Buffy’s brain at once. “Favorites?” she questioned first. “How do you even–?”

“Dawn gave me a list,” he said, beaming.

“Right.” She walked the short distance to the door and opened it. “And when you say all….” The rest of the sentence died in her throat as she took in the spread taking over a complete booth.

Buffy closed her eyes, trying hard not to scream. Because this was so him. So totally over the top and sweet and annoying and she just wanted to be mad at him. Where the hell did he think she was gonna put all the food even if she hadn’t rushed toast and half a bowl of cereal into her the second he’d dropped her off earlier?

“See?” he said, taking her hand and tugging her over to the booth. “You got pizza, mac & cheese, turkey sandwiches, pancakes, and juice. There’s fruit salad in the back for dessert.”

“I do see,” she said, careful not to add more; not trusting her tongue to be free.

Spike took his seat opposite her and gazed expectantly at her.

“You, uh… you’re not having anything?”

“Sure.” He gestured to a waitress and she brought him some curly fries and one of those blooming onion things.

Buffy idly thought about how the onion might taste on his breath, if she kissed him, then wondered how much everything was costing, and where the money was coming from to pay for it, and how that money could be better used.

“I hope you’re hungry,” Spike half-joked. His eyes were eager, but had a wariness too, like he was waiting for her verdict or whatever, and his whole life hung in the balance. Which was way too much pressure and not at all the casual night out she’d been promised. Still, she didn’t want to be rude, and she really didn’t want to waste the food, so she started to nibble.

Buffy was halfway through a second pizza slice when the waitress came back to top off her juice. She set a plate of mini burgers in front of her and she gaped in return, then flicked her eyes at Spike. “Are you seriously trying to make me explode?”

“What?” he said, looking one part genuinely baffled and one part panicked. “You always had a big appetite.”

“Yeah,” said Buffy. “ _Had._ Before.”

“Oh.” He ran a hand down his face and the waitress awkwardly retreated back to her station. “Bloody hell, I’ve already buggered this up, haven’t I?”

Buffy swallowed, not sure if she should lie to him or not. He was usually pretty good at seeing through her, anyways. “No,” she hedged at last. “It… it was a nice thought. It just….” She looked at her hands in her lap. “I did actually already eat. And the appetite thing. It really hasn’t been the same since…. Well, since.”

“So I’m a berk,” said Spike. “What else is new?”

She flashed him a sympathetic smile. “I’m sorry. I could probably–”

“No. No, let’s just leave it. Don’t force yourself.”

Buffy frowned at his obvious misery, just painted there across his stupid face. “We… uh, Dawn and me. We haven’t really had a lot, lately. You know, in the house. She’d probably appreciate it if we got this wrapped up and brought it back for her.”

“Yeah.” Spike brightened up a little. “Yeah, that’s a good idea.” He gestured for the waitress to come over again and gave the word, pressing a bunch of banknotes into her palm. Buffy tried valiantly not to stare too covetously at them. Because Spike had offered her cash before, and she’d turned him down. Of course she had. But that didn’t make her feel any better.

By the time they had packed up the feast of centuries, got it back to the house, and fielded half-a-dozen of Dawn’s best interrogation questions about what they were doing, and why, Spike and Buffy had missed the start of the movie he’d picked. With Sunnydale theatre only having a couple screens and one them being closed off due to a demon attack, they had to put off trying again for at least another evening. Though Buffy felt like the shine had kind of gone off the idea, anyway.

“We could go dancing,” said Spike, but Buffy shook her head.

“Not if I don’t wanna throw up. And, weirdly, I don’t. So that’s patrolling out, too. Consider me no-movement Buffy for the foreseeable.”

Spike grimaced and started swearing under his breath at himself again, which made Buffy impulsively take his hand. “We could still go to the Bronze. Just listen to the music?”

He nodded and they set off walking, him not letting go of her hand now he had it. Buffy felt nervous about someone seeing them, but it wasn’t like she could take it back when she’d been the one to make the gesture.

Despite Spike’s petitions earlier in the day to talk more, he was weirdly silent the rest of the way. Buffy could feel disappointment rolling off him in waves and it stirred something in her. Some need to comfort him, or reassure him; to apologize, or promise him she’d try harder.

“Listen,” she said eventually, when they settled into the couch under the stairs. “I’m not looking for grand gestures or whatever. You don’t need to impress me.”

“I don’t?” Spike questioned, his eyebrows in his hairline, like the idea genuinely came as a shock.

“No,” said Buffy. “Just… be you, I guess.” She gestured to where they were sitting. “This is fine.”

Spike scoffed. “You deserve a damn sight more than fine, Buffy.”

Something caught in her throat, and she had to look away. It was moments like this that made her think that maybe… just, maybe, he really felt what he said he did. Except she still didn’t really know how to deal with that.

When the urge to cry passed, she risked glancing back at him and almost immediately lost herself in his eyes.

“I love you,” he vowed.

And because she still didn’t trust herself with words, she leaned forward and kissed him. Except one kiss wasn’t enough. Buffy wanted to get truly lost. For hours, not just seconds. She felt Spike’s hand tighten on hers as he pulled back. She was gonna ask to go back to his place and just forget about all the other stuff they’d said, but his eyes focused on something just past her shoulder and she turned around just in time to see Xander and Anya walk in.

Spike dropped Buffy’s hand and leaned slightly further away. “Go on, then.”

She looked back at him. “Huh? I wasn’t–”

“I know,” he said. “It’s fine. You hang out with your mates. I’ll bugger off, not make it hard on you.”

“But–”

“No worries,” he said. “We said we’d be taking it easy, init?”

“Yeah,” said Buffy quietly, hating how disappointed she felt.

Spike pressed a kiss to her knuckles and stood up, at which point Xander seemed to notice them and make their way over.

“Don’t worry,” Spike told him, “I’m goin’.”

Xander didn’t look at him, much less answer, which bothered Buffy. Still, she didn’t say anything. Just watched him leave, wishing she was going too.


	3. Celebrations

Spike arrived at Buffy’s house bright and early the morning of her birthday, hoping to get some time alone with her before her friends inevitably scuppered the opportunity.

Given how things had gone on their date, he was cautiously optimistic about her having softened a little. Sure, it had started out rocky, but by the end – the kiss she’d given him, sweet and… tender, almost – he had to believe his plan was working. So maybe he didn’t have to try so hard after all.

He ran into the shade of her back porch, tucked his blanket under his arm and took a second to brace himself, then opened the door and walked in, casual demeanor firmly in place.

Buffy’s apparent foul mood immediately hit him full in the face, followed by the morning paper. He caught it and stared at her.

“Bloody hell! What happened?”

“Look.” She gestured to the paper in his hands.

It had a headline about a dead girl. Spike’s head snapped up again, eyes meeting Buffy’s sharply. “It wasn’t me!”

“I know that!” she snapped.

He blinked, tilting his head to the side but, nope, the slight change in angle didn’t help him figure her out any. “Why do I get the impression I’m getting the blame anyway?”

“Because,” said Buffy. She swallowed and added more quietly, “She was dying while I was on a date.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh.”

Spike’s shoulders sagged. “That doesn’t make it your fault.”

“Doesn’t it?” she challenged, words sharp again but eyes pleading with him to convince her.

He stepped close, relieved when she let him take her hands in his. “No, Buffy,” he said earnestly, “It doesn’t.”

She sighed and he pulled her in for a hug, resting his chin on top of her head.

“You can’t tell me this kind of thing hasn’t happened before,” he reasoned. “Other victims you weren’t able to help. You must have made some kind of peace with it, otherwise you wouldn’t have gotten this far. So….” He pulled back a little to look her in the eye again. “Why’s this one different?”

“I recognized her,” admitted Buffy quietly.

Spike paused again, feeling… _something._ “Friend of yours?” he asked warily.

Buffy scrubbed a hand down her face. “No. Just….” She hugged her arms around herself, then shrugged. “She was a person. You wouldn’t get it.”

He wanted so badly to argue, but he couldn’t. Because damn it, she was right. As a vampire, grieving people – let alone practical strangers – wasn’t something that he was accustomed to. Which… wait a second. He did a mental calculation and was hit by more feelings, these ones much stronger.

“This is your first birthday without her, isn’t it?” He wasn’t sure why he phrased it as a question. He knew the math was sound.

“What?” said Buffy, looking at the paper again. “No. I mean, I didn’t really know her. Not properly. It’s just….” She trailed off when she met his eye, understanding passing between them, then her face crumpled.

“Oh, god!” she sobbed, launching herself back into Spike’s arms. “I didn’t even realize. How could I not even have remembered?”

“You did,” he soothed, petting her hair. “Subconsciously, you did.”

Buffy’s shoulders shook but she didn’t disagree with him. It must have been a solid ten minutes they stood there, still and completely silent except for Buffy’s sniffing. Eventually, she whispered something even Spike’s enhanced hearing didn’t catch.

“Eh?”

She pulled out of the embrace and looked away. “I was just thinking what my mom would think of me. You know, if she saw me now.”

“Easy,” said Spike. “She’d be proud. Always was.”

Buffy scoffed. “Yeah, you really missed the big blowout after my summer in L.A.”

“Doesn’t matter,” said Spike. “I know love, and Joyce loved you. Wholeheartedly. Fiercely. It’s where you get it from.”

Buffy’s eyes got watery again at that. She looked away and he cursed himself. Been too full on again, hadn’t he? Well, at least he had a solution prepared.

“Ready for your gifts?”

That got her looking at him again. But speculatively rather than excited. “Gifts?” she questioned. “As in plural?”

“Just three,” he said. “No grand gestures.”

“Spike,” she began, but before she could get into her protestations properly, he lifted down a box from on top of one of the cupboards and popped open the lid to display the contents.

He’d gotten Dawn to let him in the night before, while Buffy was still at the Bronze, because he hadn’t wanted to risk bringing them in daylight when his hands would be busy holding his blanket. He’d never forgive himself if he dropped them and ruined another bloody thing.

“Spike,” Buffy said again, this time in a gasp. Her eyes were glittering, but it was different from the tears for her mum, or the girl. “Where did you get these?”

He shrugged, pretending he wasn’t inwardly cheering at her obvious delight. She reached out and fingered the inscription on the first of three throwing knives.

“I didn’t know you knew my middle name.”

“’Course,” he said, shrugging again.

Buffy shook her head, lost somewhere in disbelief. “These are beautiful, but you shouldn’t have.”

“Can’t take them back now,” Spike breezed. “Not with your name on.” Genius idea, that had been, even if he did think so himself. “Now, as for the other two presents…”

Buffy blinked as if coming out of a spell. “Other two? There are three knives.”

“Only count as one gift,” said Spike, producing the rest of his offerings from his back pocket.

Buffy’s expression turned from wary to quizzical, then she laughed. “You bought me a keychain?”

Spike beamed at her. “Promised no grand gestures, didn’t I?” It was a little bat, complete with fangs, the third gift being a scrap of paper he’d slotted through the circular bit.

Buffy pulled it out and read aloud, “I, Spike, solemnly swear to let Buffy be in charge of all future dinner plans.” She laughed again and shoved him good naturedly in the shoulder. “You’re a dork.”

“And you love it,” said Spike, over the bloody moon at how happy she looked.

“I do,” she even agreed, setting all of the gifts aside and hugging him again. “Thank you. They’re great.”

The warmth in his chest was like nothing he’d ever known. Spike basked in it for long minutes before the sound of someone clearing their throat disturbed them.

Buffy pulled away and looked guiltily over at Tara, who had appeared in the kitchen doorway.

“Nothing!” said Buffy sharply. Too sharply, considering Tara hadn’t actually accused her of anything. “I mean….” Buffy bit her lip and glanced briefly at Spike, who stared back at her. “This isn’t what it looks like.”

Just like that, his heart sank again. He sighed and took a step away, propping himself against the island and crossing his arms.

“Are you okay?” Tara asked tentatively, though it wasn’t clear which of them she was asking.

“Fine,” said Buffy. “We’re fine.”

“Uh, okay. Good,” said Tara. “Mind if I just…?” She gestured to the tap.

“Oh.” Buffy moved out of the way. “Sure.”

Spike shook his head, waiting for the witch to get her glass of water and depart again before saying to Buffy, “That was bloody stupid.”

“I panicked, okay?”

The word ‘no’ played on the tip of his tongue but he bit it back. Because it was her birthday, and they were still in the weird probation period thing he’d talked her into. Everything was still to play for, and she’d already been on an emotional rollercoaster before 10 AM.

Spike’s third instinct – since he swiftly ignored his second one, which was to suggest a stiff drink – was to change tack completely.

“Girl in the newspaper,” he said. “Supernatural death?”

Buffy visibly relaxed. “Doesn’t seem so, but who knows in this town? I’ll get Willow to try hacking the police records, see if she can get more details.”

Grateful to be back on easy ground, Spike continued on to ask who she was.

“Warren’s ex-girlfriend,” said Buffy.

Spike raised an eyebrow. “Robot boy?”

Buffy frowned. “Yeah. Him and his buddies were giving me trouble a few weeks back. The whole invisibility thing? That was them.”

Huh. She hadn’t actually explained how that happened, at the time. And weird as it was, he hadn’t questioned it. Because it really was just one of those Sunnydale things.

“Anyway,” continued Buffy, “if I get even a hint the Trio were involved, I’ll call in a tip.”

“Sounds like a plan,” said Spike, now wondering what to do with himself. He’d given Buffy her gifts and now there was nothing but time to kill until evening when everyone would else arrive for her party. There was the obvious time-killing activity, but that had been taken off the table. More’s the pity. He wondered if she was missing it already, finding the lack of sex as difficult as he was, but decided against asking.

“We could watch a movie,” said Buffy, her mind clearly in some kind of similar track. “Or, uh… play cards?”

Spike smiled, appreciating her own efforts to play nice. “Movie sounds good. Haven’t forgotten that I owe you a film.”

She blushed. “How was that just last night? At least feels like a week ago.”

“Long morning?” he hedged.

“I guess.” She sighed and walked into the living room, him following at her heels. And easy as anything, they curled into each other on the couch. Like it was normal. Like they’d been doing it for years.

Buffy flicked around the TV guide for a while before settling on something neither of them was really paying attention to and promptly falling asleep on Spike’s chest. He reveled in the ease of it, forcing himself not to move a muscle lest he wake her up again and break the spell. Soon enough, he’d drifted off as well, only waking at the sound of cars pulling up.

Buffy stretched and yawned and put a hand to her head, one eye still closed as she squinted around her. Bloody adorable, she was. “What time is it?”

“Uh….” Spike consulted his internal clock. “Dinner-time-ish.”

“Whoa!” Buffy’s eyes widened. “We slept a long time.”

Not long enough, thought Spike, but he didn’t say it. She was already pulling out of his arms and smoothing down her hair, preparing herself to let her friends in.

Willow and Tara were first in the door, which gave Spike pause, because he hadn’t been aware of Tara leaving. He supposed she’d seen them lying on the couch together and just slipped out without saying anything. He didn’t know how to feel about that, and he didn’t get long to ponder it because Dawn came in next and started chattering away about school or whatever.

Xander, evidently, had picked her up and given her a lift, but she wasn’t the only one. Anya got out of the front passenger side of the car and some bloke Spike didn’t recognize got out of the back on the side opposite to where Dawn had sat.

In the ten seconds it took Xander to introduce the stranger, Spike wondered first if Dawn had gotten herself a boyfriend and, second, what he was going to do to him. Because he was too old for her, clearly. Spike didn’t like the thought of it one bit.

“Buffy,” said Xander, “This is my friend from work.”

“Xander wants to set you up with him,” explained Anya in a none-too-subtle aside. Buffy stared at her and she added, “You know, as an orgasm buddy.”

_Bugger._ Spike liked the thought of that even less. He barely suppressed a growl as Buffy’s cheeks flamed and she stammered through some kind of non-committal response. “Spike, can you, um, help me in the kitchen? With drinks?”

He grunted and followed her in.

“I didn’t know,” she said, immediately rounding on him, hands held aloft in surrender. “I swear he didn’t tell me he was bringing anyone.”

That mollified him some, but the happy glow from just holding her as she slept had been sufficiently marred.

“I’ll go,” he said, echoing his words from the night before.

“No,” said Buffy. “You don’t have to for me.”

“It’s for _me_ ,” he corrected her, hating how vulnerable he felt. “Don’t think I could keep up the pretense of not being with you, all the while watching someone else try and score points. Not without at least cracking jokes about murdering the bloke.”

Buffy frowned. “I’m sorry. God, I could kill Xander for springing this on me!”

Well, her feeling unhappy about it did make him feel a little better. Spike sighed and felt himself soften further. After a furtive glance to check the coast was clear, he leaned down to place a chaste kiss on Buffy’s lips then promptly left before his self-control ran out and he changed his mind.

At least, he consoled himself, she’d loved her gifts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In playing with canon, I have twiddled timings a little. Because Buffy didn’t get to patrol in the previous chapter, she didn’t end up with a demon inside a sword in this one. Take it as a given that Dawn’s wish from ‘Older and Far Away’ happened and was resolved just as in the show, a little after this chapter ends, except without Spike there.


	4. Breakdown

A week had passed since the mixed bag that had been Buffy’s birthday – with its weird no-leaving vengeance spell and awkward avoidance of Xander’s friend, sudden intense Spike-missage, surprise Mom-missage, and pretty, pretty presents – and that week had been just as mixed of a bag as the day itself. There was the part where Buffy had to tell Xander – again – that she wasn’t interested in him setting her up with anyone, there was the part where Buffy had to take Dawn around a bunch of stores to return stolen items and/or apologize for stealing things. Things with Willow and Tara seemed to be looking up again, which was obviously of the good, but then Tara had asked Buffy what was really going on with her and Spike and that had been mildly terrifying. But also weirdly relieving.

Buffy hadn’t meant to, but she found herself spilling all of the details, along with a bunch of her thoughts and feelings. Feelings she hadn’t even admitted to herself before that. And Tara had hugged her and told her she didn’t need to feel guilty about any of it, and then she’d promised not to tell any else. Especially Spike.

Alongside all of that, there was the Warren thing. The cops, as it turned out, had diddly. So they’d taken Buffy’s tip to look into the Trio and apparently then found the forensic evidence they’d needed. The Trio’s lair had been raided, Andrew and Jonathan had been arrested, but Warren had put up a fight and he’d gotten shot. The papers were still reporting the horrible details these six days later.

On day four, Spike and Buffy had a massive argument about money. About him having it and her not having it, her needing it but refusing to take any of his. Spike kept telling her she could do so much better than the job she had at the Doublemeat Palace, and that he’d support her while she found something else, and she’d snapped at him that he’d promised to stop pushing her into things she wasn’t ready for, and then he’d cracked and yelled at her, saying that it “wasn’t the same as the relationship stuff at all.”

“And hadn’t that been going alright, anyway?” he’d asked.

When Buffy didn’t have an answer for that, Spike had pointed out that he’d been as patient as a saint but, not being an actual saint, he couldn’t take her excuses forever – that eventually she’d have to give something back – and Buffy had slapped him and said that if he was really so unhappy, why didn’t he just leave already and put them both out of their misery, not waiting until the month was up. Then she’d cried and he’d cursed himself, petted her hair and said he was sorry; that he just wanted the best for her. He’d reiterated that he wasn’t going anywhere and she’d repeated that she wasn’t gonna quit her job, or take his money, and he’d sighed and she’d kissed him. She’d kissed him so long and deep and hard that the feeling went out of her lips and then she’d cried again because the feeling that her life was a disaster wasn’t going away, and he’d held her.

They’d finally made it to the movies, one night, and Spike had bought Buffy popcorn, and she made him milkshakes on the house when he came to work in her breaks and, despite the massive argument, things were kinda semi okay. At least with him.

That brought her to last night, when some asshole vamp said she smelled of burger grease or whatever, and today: yet another day surrounded by burger grease, at the end of which Spike was due to pick her up and go on patrol. Except halfway through her shift, even those simple plans got messed up when she saw a ghost.

Or not an actual ghost, so much as the vision of a long-dead relationship. 

Buffy blinked up at Riley, not really believing he was real.

“Hi, Buffy,” he said, almost shyly.

She couldn’t quite get her jaw to work, but eventually managed some kind of reply. Something about her hat having a cow? She didn’t even know. All reason had evaporated.

The words ‘mission’ and ‘big, scary demon’ permeated the fog just enough to get Buffy’s legs moving and her cow hat tossed aside. The hour that followed was a blur of tracking and fighting and awkward half-conversations that culminated in Riley revealing he had a wife, who just so happened to be on the mission too.

Buffy’s heart was beating fast and her mind was still scrambling to process it all when she made an excuse to Sam and bolted as fast as she could for Spike’s crypt.

Spike, and his amazing ability to make the world go quiet. God, she’d never needed that more before in her life.

She barreled in, tossed aside the paperback he was reading, and set her hands to unbuttoning his jeans.

He jumped up like he’d been scalded, wild eyes looking all around him. “Bloody hell, Slayer! You all right?”

“No.”

She tried to get his shirt off but he gripped her wrist tight enough to hurt. It felt good, kinda. Grounding. His eyes were dark when she looked into them again. Between them and the pain, she finally paused.

“What are you playing at?”

“I… I just….” God, here she went again. The tears were coming hard and fast and she couldn’t stop any of them.

Spike let go of her wrist and pulled her into a hug. “Hush, now, love. Take a breath,” he soothed.

But she couldn’t. She couldn’t breathe, still could barely think. All she knew was she had all these _feelings_ and they were burning her from the inside out. She wanted to hit Spike in the chest for trying to ease them rather than just ripping her open to pull them out. Easing was too slow, like torture, and she couldn’t bear it. She couldn’t!

“Hey,” said Spike, now taking a tight hold of her upper arms. “Focus on my eyes. Buffy, hey, up here. Just look in my eyes, that’s all. Yes, that’s it. Now deep breath in. Hold it. Yeah. Ah, ah, just a little longer. There, now breathe out. Slow.”

Buffy sputtered, the breath coming out of her anything but slowly, but at least the black dots in her vision had stopped swirling. She closed her eyes and let Spike hug her again as she shook.

“W-what was that?” she asked, when she could finally talk again.

“Panic attack,” he said simply. Calmly. Like everything in the world made sense to him.

Buffy opened her eyes again to look at him, now seeing concern reflected back, but also that understanding she thought she’d detected in his voice. It was there all right, clear as day. She marveled at him for a moment before remembering that he’d lived with Drusilla for a century. Of course he was used to this shit.

She shook her head and stepped back a little, grateful to find her legs were supporting her, even if they were trembling. “Okay. I’m fine. It’s fine. I’m okay.”

Spike crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow. “You gonna tell me what all that was about?”

“Nothing,” she lied. “It’s fine.”

“Slayer…” he said, like it was a warning. She swallowed but didn’t say anything and his eyes narrowed. “You know, I went to pick you up as planned,” he went on, almost casually. “You remember our plan? I guess not, because your manager told me you just walked out on your shift, not a word to her or anyone else.”

Buffy balled her fists, hating how she now felt guilty on top of everything else. She forced herself to say she was sorry, and promised to explain everything just as soon as it all became clear to her. But before all that, she still needed him. Now.

“Please, just….” God, her voice was so small. “I _need_ you.” He had to understand. He _had_ to. Even if she didn’t, and couldn’t explain. That’s what he was good at.

“Is that right?” he questioned. He looked tempted, but didn’t reach for her. “Don’t you remember a little something about agreeing not to have sex?”

Buffy rolled her eyes. “That doesn’t matter right now. Or at all, even. Forget I said anything, okay?” He frowned, clearly not convinced, and she pouted, feeling like a little girl as well as a crazy person. “Is….” She looked at her feet. “Is it the smell?”

“Eh?”

“The burger smell,” she clarified. “I– you know what? Nevermind.” Her brain flipped back from indignant to insecure. “Don’t you want me?”

“Bloody hell,” he exclaimed. “I always want you!”

She approached him, still not quite meeting his eye. “So, take me.”

He groaned and took a step back. “Is this a test? You torturing me on purpose?”

“No, Spike.” It took all her strength not to stamp her foot. She glanced up at his face and saw he was eyeing her speculatively. As humiliated as she felt, Buffy couldn’t say she didn’t entirely understand his apprehension.

Spike sighed. “I’m not gonna sleep with you,” he said at last. “Not now. But….”

“But?” she repeated hating, hating, _hating_ how needy she felt.

He set his jaw, eyes roving all over her. “If a little touch is what you need, and you promise not to stake me for it, or say later that I cheated the truce or whatall, I could….” He trailed off, his increasingly hungry gaze finally settling back on hers.

Buffy bit her lip. “You could… what?”

He grinned, then, clearly warming up to the idea. “Wouldn’t be a vampire worth his salt if I didn’t at least offer to eat you up, would I?”

“Oh, god!” groaned Buffy, feeling heady already just at the idea. This is what she wanted. What she needed. She went over to the sarcophagus in the middle of the room and began unbuttoning her pants with shaky hands.

Spike leaned over her, his breathing a little heavy, and body almost touching hers but not quite. He wouldn’t lay a hand until he got the promise he wanted. “Say it out loud. I need to hear it.”

She huffed out a frustrated breath. “I promise not to hurt you,” she said. “Or hold it against you. I’ll be grateful, even.”

His expression changed again, like he was surprised she’d agreed, or worded it in her own way, but it was the essence of what he was asking for, so Buffy didn’t see why it mattered. She was more than a little frustrated that he could swing between a thousand different emotions and back again without sounding like a lunatic, but when she did it, she herself thought she needed to be committed, nevermind anyone else.

Buffy took another deep, steadying breath and said, “I need to get out of my head, you know?”

He nodded, eyes now heavily hooded. “Yeah, I’m seeing that. But I got what you need. I got you, Buffy.”

Spike stripped her down and she felt anticipation tingle up her body, starting in her toes. He took off her top and set her own hands to her breasts, then told her to lean back.

Buffy shook her head and he tilted his head at her. “I, uh… want to watch,” she said, suddenly bashful. But Spike flashed his most brilliant smile and the embarrassment went as soon as it had arrived. He kissed her and she melted into it. His lips trailed from her mouth to her cheek, then throat, and down, and down. She felt herself falling further, spiraling deeper and dizzyingly darker, but it was different than her panic attack. The place Buffy found herself now in was safe, peaceful and pleasurable. Nothing could touch her but Spike and god, it was heaven.

That thought made her brain stutter for a second, which made Spike pause and look up at her before continuing. She nodded at him once, silently telling him she was okay and, surprising though it was, she found that she actually was okay. Here, with him. Even the thought of lost heaven didn’t matter when he was filling her up with warm, gooey feelings.

Despite her desire to watch, Buffy found her head lolling back automatically. She stared blindly at the ceiling of the crypt as another thought slipped through the bliss of her sanctuary: that Spike was doing this for her. Because she’d needed it. He’d questioned if she realized what she was asking for and he found a way to give it without discounting what she’d said previously to the contrary. He’d listened, both to what she said with her mouth and what her body was screaming at him, and he found a solution even when she hadn’t known she needed one.

That put things in perspective.

Because, sure, Angel’s whole deal with his soul wasn’t the same, but he hadn’t even been willing to look into a work-around for the no-sex thing, and Buffy knew from bitter experience that magic pretty much always came with a loophole. Which meant, she realized now, he could have given her what she needed even if he couldn’t reach the truly magical part himself. He could have at least tried, like Spike was trying, but he hadn’t. He’d said it was too hard. And yet…. She raised her head to look at Spike again, trembling under his touch. He wasn’t behaving like it was any great sacrifice he was making. Buffy was actually pretty sure he was enjoying it. Buffy was getting to the really joyful part when suddenly the door opened and there Riley was again, looking at her like she was some whore he’d caught cheating on him.


	5. Closure

Spike felt Buffy stiffen under him. He swore against her, one part of him wondering what the bloody hell was wrong with her now and his softer side worried something bad had happened. Though what or how, he had no idea – at least for two full seconds until someone behind him cleared their throat.

He whipped around to find Riley Bloody Finn of all people standing there, the crypt door wide open behind him. Spike stood between him and Buffy, shielding her best he could from prying eyes and wishing he could hit the prick.

“Do you mind?” Spike snapped, at the same time Buffy said, “Oh, god!” and started rustling with her clothes.

“Oi!” continued Spike, trying to keep Riley’s eyes on him. “Asked you a question, white bread. What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing, barging in here like this?”

The tactic didn’t work. Riley was still looking past him, gaze focused on Buffy. As much as Spike hated the interruption, he might have played up to it had the circumstances been different and he was the one caught with his pants down. As it was, Buffy was vulnerable – twice over, given the state she’d been in when she came to him – and Spike knew that look Riley was giving her, one that said he was disgusted with what he saw. Disgusted with her, and what she was doing. As if oral sex was the greatest sin in the world. Spike had always taken him for a prick, but he hadn’t known his assholery extended much beyond himself. Now, to think that he not only hadn’t been giving Buffy what she needed, but held the mere thought of it with such contempt made his blood boil. Explained so bloody much, it did.

Spike imagined Soldier Boy must have had a whole speech prepared upon his grand entrance, but whatever pearls he’d had clearly slipped his mind at the view. Seemed very much like he expected to find Spike and Buffy together, but not in a position so obviously distasteful to him.

“At least shut the bloody door!”

Riley finally shifted his eyes away from Buffy to regard him. Spike held his gaze as he pointedly wiped his chin. If he didn’t have a chip in his head, he’d do a damn sight more.

“You’d let him touch you,” Riley said at last, the words that weren’t really a question directed at Buffy, despite the fact he was still glaring at Spike. “You’d let him do… _that_.” He didn’t raise his voice, but it was dripping venom.

“ _That_ ,” said Spike, “is the very least any boyfriend should be offering his lady.”

A startled laugh escaped Riley’s throat. “Boyfriend,” he repeated, aghast. “Wow.” He shook his head. “After how upset you were about what I did?”

Spike felt his eyes widen. “How in the fuck is that remotely the same?” he demanded, ready to read him the riot act when he felt Buffy’s hand come to rest on his arm.

“Leave it,” she said quietly, back to avoiding his gaze.

He growled, not wanting to leave it but also not wanting to disobey her. He generally didn’t like to go against her, no matter what he might say otherwise, but he felt the need to form a united front especially now. Buffy was the injured party, so Buffy got to call the shots. Spike understood that, but it didn’t mean he had to bloody like it.

“Riley, could we, um….” Even fully dressed again, Buffy was blushing furiously, her heart hammering in her chest; the sound reverberating in Spike’s ears. “Can we not do this? You– you found out something about the mission?”

Spike blinked in surprise, studying her afresh. Now he’d stopped to think about it, she was wearing Kevlar. Commando gear. That knowledge clicked into place in his head with a sickening sound.

So, she’d known Riley was in town already. She’d seen him – been working with him – that explained why she’d abruptly left her shift at the Doublemeat Palace, and also explained the ensuing panic attack. Spike might have been pissed off at her if he wasn’t busy still being livid with Riley.

Buffy’s words seemed to have given Riley a little jolt back on task, because on the next breath he said, “The mission, yeah. Led me here.”

Buffy’s head snapped up so she could stare at him. “Here? What do you mean it led you here?”

Riley gestured at Spike. “Why don’t you ask him?”

“Eh?”

She looked between the two of them, a deep furrow etched into her brow. “Spike,” she said after a second, “what’s he talking about?”

“Haven’t the faintest fucking clue,” he said honestly. “What are you trying to pull?”

“Sources say Spike’s the one harboring the eggs,” said Riley.

“Eggs? What the bleedin’ hell are you going on about?”

Ignoring Spike’s questions, Buffy told Riley that it couldn’t be him. He felt smug for all of a second, until she made a poor excuse of him, saying he wasn’t smart enough to carry out such a scheme. He seethed inwardly, but bit back his anger at her. That could wait until they were alone again. And, in the meantime, he had plenty enough to do directing his anger at Riley.

“Bugger off already,” he told him. “This is my home and you’re not on a guest list, right? Clear enough?”

Riley held his gun out, using the barrel to push Spike aside.

Spike looked again to Buffy, this time beseeching her to step in. As much as he hated the unfairness of responsibility for such things always having to fall to her, he felt his helplessness keenly in the situation. Sure, he was a vampire and yeah, he could talk big, but so long as he was leashed, Riley could do what the bloody hell he wanted to him.

“Come to stake me again?” asked Spike, wondering if Buffy had known about that. He guessed not and the expression on her face confirmed it.

“He staked you?” she asked, voice low.

“It wasn’t real wood,” said Riley. “Obviously.”

Buffy looked at him and raised her voice again. “You _staked_ him? When? Why?”

“Right after I exposed his suck house visits,” said Spike. “Couldn’t resist a bit of revenge.”

Buffy put a hand to her mouth but it did nothing to stifle the gasp that escaped her. She stood stock-still for a moment, then stomped after Riley who was still prowling around, supposedly looking for clues.

He found the hatch to downstairs, opened it, and disappeared inside, Buffy still following him and Spike following after her.

Spike hoped the whole charade would end soon and had just opened his mouth to say so when he caught movement just at the corner of his vision. “What in the hell?”

“He messed up,” Riley told Buffy. “Didn’t incubate the eggs. They’re gonna hatch any minute.”

“Whoa!” said Spike. “Whatever those are, I didn’t put them there. Buffy?”

She looked as surprised as he was. He had to hope that meant she believed him, but didn’t get a chance to ask anything else as the movement increased and the eggshells began to crack.

“Retreat!” commanded Buffy, visibly pushing everything aside so she could focus on the matter at hand. She shoved both Riley and Spike back up the ladder and followed behind, grabbing hold of a string of grenades off Riley’s belt at the last moment, pulling one of the pins and tossing it down the hatch before pulling herself the rest of the way up and closing it, going over to duck behind the sarcophagus. She tugged Spike with her, though he wasn’t sure if the action was conscious or more instinctual. He didn’t, point of fact, know which he would have preferred. He just held her against him, hoping that whatever the hell was happening wouldn’t mean it was the last chance he’d get to do so.

Riley had ducked somewhere over the other side of the room and, the barest moment later, a series of blasts sounded and the concrete beneath them all shook.

When everything settled again, Buffy shifted out from underneath Spike and the three of them stood up. Riley silently looked at Buffy and Spike for a minute then – finally – made for the door. He held it open, clearly expecting Buffy to follow him for debriefing or whatever other bollocks he supposedly had to do.

Buffy didn’t say anything – just barely moved – but Spike felt the hesitation full force. Boldly, he took her hand and turned her to face him, watching as she studied his face.

While Riley still idled in the doorway, she asked Spike, voice low, “Did you put them there?”

“No,” he vowed, his jaw clenched, annoyed that she even had to ask.

Buffy frowned and cast a brief glance at Riley, clearly still unsure what she should do. Spike swore under his breath as the tight rein he had on his frustration towards her began to unravel.

“Buffy,” he said, trying to keep his voice even, “whatever’s happening here, we need to talk.”

Riley made a scoffing sound and Buffy threw another glance at him. She swallowed and slipped her hand from Spike’s.

 _No!_ his demon howled. He couldn’t let this happen. Couldn’t let her walk out thinking the worst of him, especially when he’d been trying so hard to be good for her. Fuck Riley. For all the scheming Spike had ever done, it was nothing on this. Riley wasn’t with Buffy any more – he hadn’t wanted her enough to stay – and yet here he was, screwing up her chances to be with anyone else. Just like sodding Angel all over again.

As Buffy turned around and took a step towards the door, Spike had to think fast. “You ever think about how he knew he’d find you here?” he asked quickly, making her pause again. “And why he’s not so surprised to find us together?”

“I went to Willy’s,” said Riley. “The demons there told me the eggs were here, that’s why I came. Not Buffy.”

“Bullshit,” said Spike. “Demon community know not to talk to you. They’re skittish around humans at the best of times. Why would they open up to the Initiative’s best boy?” To Buffy he added, “You notice he didn’t deny being unsurprised about us. Too hard to lie about that when we saw his face. I’ll bet he’s been keepin’ his spies.” He looked to Riley again. “You been planning this for a few days or ever since you left? Before that?”

“I didn’t plan anything,” maintained Riley.

“And I didn’t store any bloody eggs!” yelled Spike. “Why would I want critters in here, busting up the place?”

“They’re valuable,” said Riley. “Or would have been, if you’d handled them right.”

Spike shook his head. Of course Riley had an answer for everything, he’d had time to prepare answers. It was Spike who’d been caught off guard.

“Buffy,” he said again, desperation pushing his tone higher. “Please, you know I wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize us. I love you.”

Riley scoffed again. “Love!” he exclaimed. “You’re a demon! What do you know about love?”

\---

Buffy wasn’t sure what finally snapped her out of her stupor of indecision: Spike’s voice, his points – which she’d still have to give a lot of thought to, when her brain was back working at capacity – or Riley’s dismissal of him, and them. Maybe it was all of it, but that last part in particular made her mad for reasons she’d also need to think hard about later.

“Don’t talk to him like that,” she said, even though something squirmed in the pit of her stomach, sick with the knowledge that she’d accused him of worse time and again.

“You don’t seriously believe him,” said Riley.

“I don’t _know_ ,” she bit out. “Everything about this mission is fishy and I don’t understand any of it, okay? But Spike–” She half turned so she could have him back in her line of sight without putting her back to Riley. Meeting Spike’s eyes – scared and hopeful and absolutely full of love – she knew she couldn’t deny that part. Not anymore. “Spike’s love is… honestly? Something I don’t really understand either, but it’s been the only thing holding me together for months, so–” she looked at Riley again “–don’t you dare tell me it isn’t real. You know nothing about it. You weren’t here. You wanna argue about the mission? Fine. But I’m sorry, Riley, my relationship is not up for discussion.”

Riley blinked at her. He tried and failed to speak a couple of times before finally asking if she was going to leave with him to debrief.

She bit her lip, considering it again. “No,” she decided at last.

“What?” both Spike and Riley said at once, both disbelieving.

Buffy ignored Spike for a second. She’d get to him properly just as soon as Riley was gone. “You’ve clearly already made up your mind about what happened,” she said to Riley. “You don’t need me.”

Riley scowled, clearly wanting to argue, but before he could, Buffy held up a hand. “Go back to your wife, Riley.”

In the corner of her eye, Buffy saw Spike’s jaw drop open. “Wife?” he repeated. “You brought a new bint to town and–”

Buffy held up a hand to him, as well. “Leave it, please.”

Spike snapped his mouth closed again, but his expression was mutinous. She had to appreciate that he pretty much always did as she asked, these days, even when it galled him. Now she thought about it, she couldn’t actually think of the last time he’d lied to her. Was it over the stuff with Adam? No, wait, it was when he was making stupid excuses for stealing her clothes. Which still made it over a year ago, and was hardly on the same scale of evil. Spike wasn’t good, exactly, but he had come a long way when you considered everything. Who knew what he could do if she actually gave him a proper chance?

Buffy pointedly waited for Riley to leave, shut the door after him, then finally turned the rest of the way to Spike, suddenly desperate to find out.


	6. Leap of Faith

Spike couldn’t believe his luck. Yeah, he’d had to put up with a hell of a lot in the space of an hour, but none of it mattered because, at the end of it, Buffy had chosen not to walk away.

She was eyeing him speculatively, probably trying to figure out if she’d made the right call, and damn the world if he wasn’t gonna convince her not to regret a thing.

“I swear I wasn’t dealing in demon eggs,” he reiterated, not able to stop himself from adding, “And not because I’m too stupid for it.”

Buffy had the good grace to look embarrassed at the remark. “Okay, I deserved that. I shouldn’t have said you were dumb.”

“You know I’m not,” said Spike, refusing to let it go just yet. “Trying to run black market goods right under your nose would have been the truly idiotic thing. Even I can see that.”

“You’re right,” she said, conceding that at least.

“So you believe me?” he pressed. “I’ll willingly let Red run a truth spell. Or Glinda, if Willow’s still giving the magics a break?”

Buffy visibly relaxed. “If you’re willing to do that,” she said, “I’m willing to trust you.”

His heart soared, knowing trust was a big thing for her, right up there with love. Which reminded him of the other huge step she’d taken, in finally accepting his feelings were real. He could have argued, maybe even successfully, that meant there was no need for the rest of the bet they had going, but he didn’t want to push things too much. Buffy needed to come to the realization herself, and it didn’t seem like she was so far away, suddenly, so he could wait.

“Nice outfit,” said Spike, moving the conversation on again.

Buffy looked down at herself and blushed. “Kevlar’s gotta be better than my neon Doublemeat Palace uniform, right?”

He narrowed his eyes, silently making it clear she wasn’t getting off the hook that easily.

She sighed and flopped into his armchair. “So, I’d seen Riley and jumped on the mission with him. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”

“You were quite… caught up,” allowed Spike. He’d given her a bit of a hard time, which he felt was fair, but he could be magnanimous too.

“God, I was a mess,” said Buffy. She shook her head. “I’m still a mess.”

Spike walked around the armchair until he was in front of her, then sat on the edge of his coffee table so he was at her level. “You’re too hard on yourself, love.”

“But I screwed up,” she protested. “Why are you comforting me?”

He smiled despite himself. “Can’t bloody help it. That would be the part where I’m in love with you. Isn’t that what lovers do for each other?” _Should_ do, he inwardly corrected himself, knowing all too well most people fell short of his ideals.

Buffy looked away, face closed off, like she was trying not to cry. Again. She kept shutting down like that and it kept stabbing him in the chest but, while he wasn’t getting used to it, exactly, Spike felt like he was starting to understand. She wasn’t being a bitch – or maybe she was, but not just that. This was hard for her. Much harder than he’d realized.

It had been a harsh lesson that had taken him near three decades and a thousand beatings to learn, but Spike knew now that other people didn’t _feel_ the same as he did. Not in the same way, at the same speed, or with the same intensity. Even after the knowledge was ingrained in him, he sometimes still forgot. Still got caught up, his expectations rushing ahead, setting him up for a fall.

And Buffy – Buffy was so much more than any average human. Humans were complicated beyond words, and she… she was different from them all, but that didn’t make her the same as him. No, she was a thing all of herself. No bloody wonder she struggled so hard to relate. To be ‘normal.’

The normal human emotions were in there, all right. Spike could see them clear as day, when she wasn’t shut down. But they were locked inside her right beside the need to kill. To hunt.

She had a soul, and violence, and trauma in spades. All of that was a heavy enough burden for Angel to shoulder, but Buffy was young as well. So young. And she hadn’t chosen it the way Angel had. She’d never had a choice at all. Never had a chance to be anything else. So, no. He couldn’t watch her beat herself up.

Spike wanted so much to cuddle her close, protecting her from everyone and everything but, well, that was going against the very essence of what she was. He could no more protect her than he could bury a sword in packing peanuts and still expect it to be any use. And one of the million things he loved about her was the very fact that she was so raw and sharp, so it wasn’t like he even wanted that for her intellectually, regardless of what he felt.

That, thought Spike, is exactly where Angel had gone wrong. He was like one of those wankers who bought a mountain lion and expected it to be a housecat, scolding it for not being domesticated and eventually abandoning it when the wildness won out against the cute, and the responsibility of caring for it got too real.

Buffy stood up, apparently having succeeded in getting her tears under control. The action brought Spike out of his reverie. He watched as she approached the hatch to his downstairs and stopped, as if contemplating it. With her back to him she said, “Listen, I know I haven’t really been keeping up my side of the bet. I said I would talk to you and I haven’t been. I….” She swallowed. “I’ll do better.” In a much lower voice she added, “You deserve better.”

Spike got up and went to her, his heart full to brimming at her words. He slid his arms around her waist and nuzzled her hair, taking a moment to enjoy the scent. Now that Riley had come and gone, he was more confident than ever that they could go the distance. As much as he hated the wanker and his stupid plans, Riley had inadvertently brought Spike and Buffy closer together, and he had to be grateful for that if nothing else.

“I’ll have free time on my hands for a while,” Buffy continued on, voice a little more confident again. “I don’t think the Doublemeat Palace will be taking me back after I just walked out like that.”

Spike knew better than to ask her if she had a plan. She always got furious with her friends when they expected her to instantly have all the answers, and rightly so. “Does…” he began tentatively, wetting his lips. “Does this mean you’ll let me try and help? I could at least give you back whatever cash you paid me for leads and lending a hand and whatever else, over the years.”

Buffy sighed and leaned back against him. “I guess I don’t need to tell you it has to be honest money.”

“No,” he said, suppressing a growl. “You don’t. Already settled the fact that I’m not a complete bloody idiot.”

“Okay, okay!” She turned in his arms and looked deep in his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

Spike simmered down, instantly tossing the affront aside, then realized he needed to clarify if poker winnings counted as honest money.

Buffy pressed her lips together, evidently giving it some thought. “Do you cheat?” she asked after a minute.

“Sometimes,” allowed Spike.

“And you play against demons?”

“Yeah.”

“Do they cheat, too?”

He couldn’t help the grin that spread across his face. “Not as well as me.”

She sighed again, resigned. “I guess that’ll have to do. At least for now. But no kittens!”

He crossed his heart, further content with the outcome of Riley’s schemings. Spike couldn’t say his ex visiting town the last time had gone any better than Buffy’s, but he couldn’t fault the results in this particular situation, unintended or not.

“Anyway,” said Buffy, “Cash wasn’t actually where I had been going with that. I don’t even want to _think_ about it anymore. Not tonight.”

“All right,” said Spike, bracing himself for whatever she had been leading up to.

“I was gonna say I could help you fix up downstairs. You know, since I’m partly responsible.”

Spike barked out a laugh. “You started throwing explosives around and are only _partly_ responsible?”

“Well, yeah,” she said, with a shrug and a hint of a smile. “There were demons. What was a girl to do?”

He smiled back, so bloody relieved she was getting back to herself after the visit from the great, hulking hall monitor. “I have an idea,” he said, leaning close to her ear, “If you wanna _do_ something….”

“Uh-huh?” said Buffy, a little breathy. “And what’s that?”

“Well,” he whispered, “We did get interrupted. Wasn’t bloody fair, if you ask me.”

“No,” allowed Buffy, her heart speeding up. “It wasn’t.”

“So,” he continued, pressing himself just that little bit closer, “we should let you… finish. I could let you finish a few times.”

Buffy laughed, warm and genuine, and put a hand to his chest. “You are so bad. How am I ever supposed to get anything done when you’re like this?”

Spike allowed her to push him back a smidge so he could try and read her face. He raised an eyebrow at her now light expression, open and teasing and almost – dare he think it? – happy. Damn that had happened fast. He would be pleased with the transformation, except he also got the impression she was turning him down.

“Let’s check the damage first,” she said, confirming his fear.

“Fine,” he said, consoling himself that it wasn’t an outright no. She was being practical. Sensible. And he couldn’t really fault her, even if he was sorely disappointed.

Together, they pulled up the hatch, the force of the explosion having made it no longer fit the hole quite right. Spike stuck his head down first, using his vampire hearing to listen out for scuttling and enhanced night vision to watch for movement. When he was satisfied all the little beasties were indeed toast, he dropped down fully, Buffy following after him. The ladder was in a thousand bits at their feet, so they’d have a time getting back up, but that wasn’t the most pressing matter.

As Spike picked his way around the room, pulling candles out of the debris and lighting them, the full extent of the damage made itself known.

The place was an utter disaster. Worse even than he had imagined, with everything covered in caustic demon bits, scorch marks, or both. Not even the bed had survived.

Buffy swore under her breath and apologized again. Which, honestly, almost made the whole thing worth it. One of her heartfelt ‘sorry’s did for him what a thousand blow jobs could not. The mark of how much someone truly cared was in the actions rather than the words of most people but, for Buffy, it was the other way around. She didn’t do platitudes, which meant when she _did_ say something touching, she tended to be damn well touched.

She was sorry, which meant she cared. For _him._

Yes, Spike’s worldly possessions lay in tatters, but he felt damn lucky. What would it have been like if she’d walked away with Riley on top of the destruction? He shook his head, not willing or able to imagine the heartache.

“Spike,” she said, softly, placing her hand on his arm so he turned to face her. “You can’t stay here.”

He frowned, annoyed that the moment was ruined. “Where else do you expect me to go?”

It was then he noticed her heart rate had hitched up again. A moment after that, he theorized as to why and the frown on his face melted into what he imagined must resemble a look of awe, if it did any justice to just how he felt inside.

“Well,” said Buffy, biting her lip, “I have a house.”

He considered her silently for a long moment. She’d really said it. Or implied it. Usually, when he imagined her voicing his wildest desires, reality usually spun the other way and knocked him back down to earth with a thud. “What are you suggesting?” he asked, suddenly needing her to spell it out in full.

Her expression turned a little shy. “I’m suggesting the same as what you were suggesting, before, except in my room instead of here. I, uh….” She blushed furiously. “I do want to… finish.”

He grinned at her, his tongue rolling back behind his teeth. “Is that right?”

“Uh-huh,” she said, failing miserably in her feeble attempt to feign an air of casualness. God but she was cute. And brave, he realized. She said she’d try harder and here she was, pushing her vulnerability aside for him. For them.

“Ooh, better idea!” she exclaimed on the next breath, bouncing on the balls of her feet, suddenly giddy as anything. “You could pay me rent!”

Spike laughed and slid his arms around her waist. “You gonna be a hard-ass landlord?”

“Totally,” Buffy said, beaming back at him.

He kissed her, maybe more passionately than ever before. The passion was in stark contrast to the grime and gore they were surrounded by, but that made it all the better. Because they were leaving that behind, treading new ground. Running, at speed, towards exciting new places. Spike just hoped Buffy wouldn’t get cold feet on the walk home.


	7. Housemates

Buffy had successfully managed to scare herself shitless. It had taken about two minutes of being home for reality to properly sink in, in its full, technicolor terror. Which she probably should have expected but really, really hadn’t.

When she and Spike had first walked in the door of Revello Drive, Buffy told Dawn – pretty casually, she’d thought – that Spike’s place got busted up and so he’d need to stay in their basement (no matter that she was of course going to bring him to her bed, just as soon as everyone else was asleep).

Dawn had given her a quizzical look. “You mean the basement that’s still super damp from all the flooding?”

Buffy had sworn, because of course she hadn’t remembered that. She’d been caught up, and it hadn’t mattered because he wasn’t actually gonna sleep down there.

“No worries,” Spike had said quickly. “I’m not above kipping on the couch.”

God, she could have kissed him! She didn’t, of course, because Dawn was there, but Buffy felt so relieved for the easy save. It was so annoying how her brain never came up with simple explanations in tricky situations, which was no fair, considering how many tricky situations she ended up in.

“Whatever,” said Dawn, tossing her hair and turning her attention back to reheating leftover mac and cheese.

Buffy breathed a sigh of relief and gestured for Spike to follow her into the living room, where she whispered to him that their plans might need to be put on hold.

The look on his face – the disappointment of a puppy told it can’t have cookie crumbs – made her instantly ache.

“I’m not saying you can’t stay here,” she quickly clarified, “just that….” She cast a glance back at the kitchen and lowered her voice even more. “We can’t have the ‘finishing’ we talked about.”

Spike’s lips quirked up in a grin. “One,” he said, “you need to learn how talk about sex. If you’re doing it, you should be able to say it. And two: you really think I’d give up that easily?”

Buffy felt her eyes become huge. “What? What are you–?”

“Dawn!” said Spike, which made her appear in the living room door, spoon in hand.

“Yeah? What?”

“Tell your sister she should stop bein’ all prideful and let me fix the broken drawer in her bedroom. I get the whole ‘girl power’ bit, but if you’re not great with a screwdriver there’s no point forcing it just to make a point, right?”

Both Buffy and Dawn had stared at him for a long second before Dawn finally said a slightly skeptical, “I guess?”

“See,” said Spike to Buffy. “No big deal. Get the toolbox and I’ll meet you upstairs.”

“He’s weird,” Dawn commented after he took off running.

“Uh-huh,” said Buffy, amazed yet again at his ability to just bluster through so much. She did as he asked, getting the toolbox and following after him, and he gave her the most amazing orgasm pretty much the minute he had her alone – and again the minute after that – but even with those, the whole thing was still feeling way too real for Buffy. So now they were sitting on her bed while she closed her eyes and held a hand to her chest, trying to fend off another incoming panic attack.

Spike rubbed his hand in circles along her back. “It’s okay, pet.”

Buffy’s eyes snapped open and she turned to stare at him. “It is _not_ okay!”

He took back his hand and set his jaw, but didn’t say anything.

She sighed. “I’m sorry.”

He narrowed his eyes. “What are you sorry about?”

Buffy swallowed. She recognized the question for the challenge it was. A challenge to follow up on her promise to talk to him. To open up and quit the mixed signals she’d already started throwing at him again. But despite the fact that she understood all that, she still struggled to reply.

Spike waited, though it looked like it was killing him not to snark at her. He pulled his lighter out of his coat pocket and flicked it open and closed, open and closed. It was hypnotic. So hypnotic, Buffy had to close her eyes again just to concentrate.

“I’m already pushing you away,” she admitted finally.

The snapping of the lighter stopped. “It’s okay to be scared,” said Spike.

“Is it?” she questioned, genuinely confused.

“Well, yeah,” he said, voice almost casual now. “This is new territory.”

She thought about that and supposed he was right. She’d done all the physical intimacy with him, and she’d done the couple-y stuff with Riley, but she hadn’t had that bit with Spike yet; hadn’t ever had all her needs met at once, by a single person before. And now she thought about it, she found she actually wanted it: both the physical and the emotional parts. Suddenly, the thought of Spike staying over and her not having to hide him, or be ashamed of what they were doing was all she could think about, and the thought was intoxicating. Buffy wanted to turn around and confess her desires right there and then, call off the stupid bet – tell him he’d won – so they could go the whole hog and… yeah, no. As much as she wanted it, there was still something holding her back.

“Your past experience would make anyone gun-shy,” said Spike, as if reading her thoughts. “Hell, it would make most women run for the hills and never want to see another man the rest of their lives.”

Buffy smiled at him. “You know you’re very understanding, when you wanna be.”

“Yeah,” he said, smiling back. “I did know that. It’s _you_ that’s catching up.”

She laughed and stuck out her tongue. He leapt and wrestled her into the mattress. Her heart sped up again and breathing came harder, but not in a panic attack way, in a really nice, enjoyable way. She kissed him and he kissed her, she felt the tickle of his breath against her ear, and leaned up into him and– she pushed him away, sitting up again.

Spike sighed. “The no-sex thing still stands, eh?”

“For now,” she said, though even she could hear the disappointment in her own voice. “The bet isn’t over yet.”

“Right,” said Spike, moving away. “I guess I’ll be headed to the couch, then.”

Buffy snagged his arm and he looked at her, blue eyes piercing. God, she was torturing him as much as herself. “Don’t go,” she whispered. “Not yet. We could….” A blush spread its way throughout her.

“Cuddle?” Spike finished for her, the light in his eyes shimmering again.

“Yeah,” said Buffy, relieved. “That.”

Spike lay back and pulled her with him. “That, I can do.”

\---

When Spike finally emerged from Buffy’s bedroom and padded down to the kitchen on bare feet, he was startled to find Dawn hovering in there again.

“Bloody hell, bit! You’d give a vamp a heart attack. You ever stop eating?”

“Nope,” she said, popping a cube of cheese in her mouth, completely unashamed. Spike found he had to admire that. The summer Buffy was gone, Dawn had barely touched food and it had worried him like nothing ever had before.

“Tricky drawer, huh?” she questioned.

He blinked at her. “Howzat?”

She grinned, merriment all over her face. It was good to see, if not also terrifying. “The drawer you were fixing for Buffy? You were up there a while, so I figured it must have been giving you trouble.”

“Er, yeah,” he stammered. “Trouble. Right.”

“Thought so,” she said, throwing a handful more cheese cubes in her mouth and wandering off to some other part of the house.

Spike stared after her, more than a little panicked. Because she knew. He was certain she’d figured out his and Buffy’s secret – which wasn’t really any wonder – but if Buffy found out that Dawn knew, she’d probably get spooked and all their progress could be thrown away. Did that mean he should talk to the chit? Get her to promise not to say anything? He frowned and decided, no, that was too risky. On the small off chance she had a theory but wasn’t completely certain about it, he’d be playing right into her hands. Plus, Buffy would be furious at him. _Shit._ He looked around as if seeking inspiration to help solve his predicament when suddenly he remembered why he’d come downstairs in the first place. His lady wanted orange juice, so she was gonna get orange juice.

Spike poured a glass of the chilled liquid from the fridge and set it down on the countertop. Three deep breaths later, he picked it up again and made his way back to Buffy, who took it gratefully.

“Mmm, hydration,” she said with a smile.

He smiled back at her, reaffirming to himself not to say anything. There was too much at stake. He was happy – on the verge of having everything he ever wanted – and wasn’t ready to give it up. He’d never be ready, he knew, but certainly not now, when it was all still so new. Spike needed more of it. So much more of Buffy in her natural habitat, looking up at him with light in her eyes.

He snuggled against her, laying a kiss just along her hairline, ecstatic when she leaned into him without so much as a moment’s hesitation. It wasn’t long until she was asleep in his arms and he found himself delightfully trapped for the night.

Things went on like that for a week. Neither Spike nor Buffy had outwardly acknowledged their status or sleeping arrangements to the other people sharing the house, and Buffy was still all for continuing in that vein, even while Spike’s sense that they weren’t fooling anyone continued to grow.

Tara was giving him little knowing glances, and Willow just seemed confused, perpetually on the verge of asking a question she never actually voiced, while Dawn had stopped trying to wheedle information out of him, which was the surest sign of all she was already in possession of all she needed to know.

Spike stood firm in his decision to not point any of this out to Buffy, as she seemed to be enjoying the denial, flimsy though her grip on it was. She wasn’t stupid and could see as well as he could, which meant she knew, she was just ignoring it. Who was he to spoil her fun?

Living with her was more fun than he could have imagined. Just being around her so much, especially seeing as she was jobless and therefore had so much time to kill. Yeah, he was a lovesick puppy and they were supposed to be mortal enemies but he didn’t bloody care, they were past all that rot. In fact, if he wasn’t very much mistaken, Spike had started to think the Slayer was falling for him. It could have been wishful thinking – gods knew how much he wished it – but her words and actions backed up the fantasy.

Buffy had stayed firm on the no sex thing, not even letting him finger her to release even though he woke up most mornings to her sleepily dry humping him. But despite that, she hadn’t once kicked him out of bed, or even threatened to make him sleep on the couch.

That was, at least, until tonight.

He looked at her, heart clenched, mentally kicking himself for being a fool. “Did I do something wrong?”

She blushed furiously. “No,” she said, turning away from him. “I, um, don’t want to talk about it.”

Okay, that got his blood up. Because she’d promised she wouldn’t dismiss him like that, and she’d been finally – fucking _finally_ – living up to that promise and he really had no idea what had changed.

He surged forward, practically pinning her in place, his arms planted on the wall either side of her head.

Buffy bit her lip and looked down, but she couldn’t escape him without actively pushing him away. Which, he noted, she seemed reluctant to do.

“Tell me,” he begged. “Please.”

She sighed and he closed his eyes to enjoy the sweet smell of her breath. “I’m embarrassed,” she admitted then.

Spike backed up a little – or tried to, but she held him in place. “Embarrassed?” he repeated. “Of me?” Sure, there had been that awkward moment where he’d forgotten to lock the bathroom door when he went for a shower, but she hadn’t seen anything she wasn’t already intimately acquainted with.

“Not you,” she reassured him now. “I, uh… have a thing.”

“A thing?” he questioned, starting to get annoyed again.

“Yeah. You know, a….” She swallowed. “A monthly thing. It’s due any day now, and–”

_Bloody hell!_ Spike threw back his head and breathed a deep sigh of relief. That’s all it was? Her sodding period? “Buffy, you don’t need to be ashamed of that.”

“I know,” she said. “I’m not.” But she was still blushing.

Spike kissed her, not able to resist given how cute she was.

“Listen,” she said when they eventually pulled apart. “You’ve been really great about all of this. I’m actually trying to make things easier for you.”

He frowned, supposing she’d noticed his bad case of week-long morning wood after all.

“I know it must be, uh… weird… with me. If I’m… you know.”

He smiled despite himself. “Yeah, alright. I see your point. Just gonna miss you, is all.”

She melted into his arms. “I’m gonna miss you too. But you’ll just be downstairs, and it’ll only be a couple days.”

Spike pouted, of course knowing she was right but still not liking it one bit. He’d gotten used to sharing a bed with her. Too used to it, too fast, but that was always the case with him.

“I can wait,” he said at last, pressing another kiss to her lips. “But I best be gettin’ that Sainthood any day now.”

Buffy laughed and kissed him back. “Maybe Boyfriend Of The Year,” she joked – it was certainly a joke, but his heart leapt regardless. He tried to hold back telling her, yet again, how much he loved her and failed, not able to help himself.

Buffy’s smile faded and she pulled away a little.

“Hey, pet,” he soothed, not wanting the moment to end. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not,” she said, voice soft. Fragile. “You’re great, but I’m like Worst Girlfriend Ever.”

He kissed her and held her tight, knowing that any words of affirmation he’d try and offer her would only have the opposite effect. For all their progress, they clearly still had a way to go.


	8. The Wedding

The Scoobies dutifully assembled at Sunnydale’s Bison Lodge for Xander and Anya’s wedding two solid hours before everything was due to kick off. Everyone had assigned tasks: Dawn was to make sure the table set aside for gifts was well signposted and that all of the party favors were present and correct (and none of them wriggled away to parts unknown), Willow was to check on the whereabouts and status of Anya’s dress, Tara was to check in on the bride herself, while Buffy was to do an initial perimeter check for any supernatural goings on that were not part of the Official Plan.

The only person who didn’t have anything to do was Spike, because Buffy hadn’t told Xander that he’d been staying at her house and therefore would be arriving at the same time as the rest of the Revello Drive crew. She caught him watching her as she completed her appraisal of the emergency exits and began counting the chairs. 

“Stop that,” she said lightly.

“Stop what?” he questioned from his position leaning against the wall, one leg braced against it and a hand in his pocket.

“You’re staring,” said Buffy.

Spike let out a low chuckle. “Of course I’m bloody staring, you’re gorgeous!”

Buffy blushed and turned to face him properly. She wanted to tell him to keep it down – the last thing she needed was for Xander to overhear and start freaking out – but bit her lip instead. Spike was playing nice. Giving her a compliment.  _ I really shouldn’t feel so weird about that. Not now. _

“You sure it’s not the radioactive dress drawing your eye?” she teased, hoping Anya didn’t overhear  _ that _ . She’d gone on and on for months about getting just the right color, and Buffy didn’t dare to wonder what might happen if she realized, at the end of it all, that the general feeling among the bridesmaids that said color was hideous.

Spike looked Buffy slowly up and down, his smile warm and eyes soft. “I’m sure.”

She felt her heart flutter but couldn’t afford to let herself get too caught up. Buffy absolutely would not allow herself to rest until Xander and Anya had walked up the aisle and successfully sealed the deal. There was just too much riding on the success of their union.

Okay, so maybe the stakes were all in Buffy’s head and she hadn’t actually shared her theory with anyone else, mostly for how crazy it might make her sound, but she couldn’t help but feel like if today was a disaster, it spelled doom for Willow and Tara, herself and Spike, and any other couple in love ever.

As Spike pushed himself off the wall and took a step towards her, arms raised, Buffy quickly fended off the advance by asking if he could sniff out the janitor and ask him if there was another stack of chairs hiding in a closet somewhere. By Buffy’s swift and perhaps not entirely accurate calculations, there were probably enough chairs out already, but she wasn’t taking any chances.

Spike sighed, rolled his eyes, but ultimately did as she asked while she headed in the opposite direction to help Xander with his bow tie. Bow ties, as it turned out, were not Buffy’s forte, but her Slayer strength did come in handy in the fight against his too-tight cummerbund.

“There!” she said, standing back proudly to admire her work. “Look at you!”

Xander eyed himself in the mirror and winced. “It’s a good thing I don’t need to breathe, huh?”

Buffy shushed him, brushing a stray piece of lint off the shoulder of his tux. “I am so happy for you. You and Anya give me hope. It's like....” God, she was tearing up.  _ Mental note to Buffy: double check your mascara _ . “It’s like you two are proof that there's light at the end of this long,  _ looooong _ nasty tunnel.”  _ Okay, cool, it sounds less insane when I put it like that. _

Xander smiled and Buffy left in search of Willow, whom she hoped actually was good at bow ties. A peek into the main hall didn’t locate her, but did alert Buffy to growing unrest between visiting demons and the Harris family. Huh. She hadn’t actually expected anyone else to be showing up yet but, blinking up at a clock above the bar, she was surprised to see how much time had passed. Suddenly, there was only a half-hour to go.

“It’s good to see you,” said someone off to Buffy’s left. She turned around to find the guy Xander had brought to her birthday party. What was his name again? Raymond? Robert?

“Richard,” he said shyly. “You remember me, right?”

“Uh, sure. I, um…. I just gotta go check on a thing.” Buffy smiled and darted towards Mr. Harris, who had a drink in his hand despite the fact that the staff were under strict instructions not to pop a single cork until the very end. Hadn’t they learned anything from the rehearsal dinner?

“Buffy?”

“What?” she snapped and turned around this time to find Spike behind her.

He looked at her with head tilted and eyes cautious. “You all right, pet? Heart’s hammering.”

She took a deep breath and inclined her head to Mr. Harris. “A little busy.”

“Right.” Spike stalked off to the other side of the room and Buffy’s heart clenched. She wanted so badly to go after him, and felt bad for always pushing him away, but resolved herself to make it up to him when all was said and done.

\---

Spike knew how to take a bloody hint. What was harder was trying not to be petulant about it. Of course he _knew,_ logically, that Buffy had a lot on her plate, which meant he needed to rein in his insecurity and ignore the fact that he didn’t _feel_ very good about his new position at the edge of said plate. He’d been looking forward to today – to spending it with her – and wasn’t prepared to let his neediness spoil the rest of what promised to be a happy occasion, because Riley sodding Finn he was not. 

It would be all too easy to pout and glare, but Buffy wasn’t the only one of them under the terms of the bet who’d promised to demand less and try more. 

So. If she was stressed, he figured he’d try his hand at helping her out, primarily so she’d feel better, but also in the hope that he’d get Brownie points and reap the benefits of her slightly freed up schedule. 

Spike set about checking on the music (a pitiful selection, but no doubt what Xander would have wanted), the food, and in particular the cake (spiced buttercream icing. Nice.), the bridesmaids, and the bride – though he got yelled at when he stuck his head into the room Anya was changing in. Everything seemed to be ship-shape, which was reassuring, even if it left him a little restless. He’d geared himself up to take on the world – or at least the bar and catering staff – but Buffy, being the bloody marvel that she was, already had everything well in hand. 

Spike was toying with the idea of braving the daylight as hidden behind rainclouds for a cheeky fag when a different hammering heartbeat caught his attention. Hovering behind a door labelled ‘Groom’ was, what smelled like, Xander bloody Harris on the verge of pissing himself with fear.

_ Bloody hell. _ Spike had hoped he’d be able to avoid the wanker for the most part, but if that’s where the trouble was, or had the potential to be, he supposed he’d just have to bloody well face it. For Buffy, he’d do it. For Buffy, he’d do anything.

Spike sighed again and knocked on the door.

“Go away, Uncle Rory!” chimed Xander. “I’m busy. I can hear more about taxidermy later.”

The words, ‘It’s me, you berk’ played on the tip of Spike’s tongue, but he figured he stood a better chance of an audience if he didn’t announce himself. So he braced himself, knocked once more, and then strode in before Xander could object or say anything else.

“I said I’m busy!” he called over his shoulder before pausing and squinting at the mirror, which reflected an image of an empty doorway behind him. Xander frowned and turned around, jumping when he saw Spike.

“’Ello, mate.”

“Spike! What the hell are you doing here? Get out!”

“Easy, now,” said Spike, raising his hands placatingly. “I don’t want to be here any more than you want me.”

That, at least, seemed to comfort the idiot. “Well,” he said, now on the back foot. “What do you want?”

Spike crossed his arms, knowing this was gonna be a long shot. “Can smell your terror from right down the hall. Tell me what’s wrong and I’ll deal with it. We can get this show on the road.”

“Why do you care?”

“Don’t,” admitted Spike plainly. “But Buffy does and if this thing goes tits up, she’ll be heartbroken.  _ That _ , I care about.”

Xander gave him a look. Something between helplessness and annoyance. “I can’t get married just so I don’t hurt Buffy’s feelings.”

“No, you idiot,” said Spike. “You get married because you love your bird and you’d be an idiot not to. You don’t want to hurt  _ her _ . Buffy not ending up needing another bloody emotional sticking plaster is my motivation and your bonus.”

“A sticking what, now?”

Spike rolled his eyes skyward. “Just get your arse up the aisle and say the damn vows!”

“But–” Xander fiddled with his cufflinks.

“But what?” snapped Spike. “You love her, she loves you. What’s the sodding problem?”  _ Bloody humans always putting up obstacles where there was never any need. _

Xander made several attempts at an answer before sighing. “I don’t want to hurt her.”

“So marry her,” said Spike, exasperated.

“ _ No _ ,” said Xander. “I’m not talking about today. I mean the future. What if we get married and it all goes wrong? What if I’m not a good husband, and it’s all a disaster?”

“What if the moon exploded tomorrow?” said Spike.

Xander glared at him. “I’m serious.”

“So am I,” he shot back. “You can’t predict disasters beyond knowing that something bad’ll happen at some point, and you can’t plan for most things even if you do get a heads up. You want to be a good husband? That’s something you  _ can _ control. Start by not breaking Anya’s heart on her sodding wedding day of all days!”

Xander was quiet for a bit, gazing off into the middle distance. “Maybe,” he allowed eventually.

Spike clenched his fists, reigning in his frustration. “Do you love the bint?”

“What?”

“Anya. You do love her, right? Got no one else on the side?”

“Of course not!” exclaimed Xander, his indignation at least having brought himself out of his thoughts.

“Good,” said Spike, forcing a smile. “At least I don’t have to find a way to get around this chip so I could skin you.”

Xander swallowed. “You wouldn’t, uh…. Actually? Never mind. Don’t tell me if you were serious.”

Spike grinned for real. “Listen, mate. You walk out on this, you’ll regret it forever.”

“You think?” asked Xander, face full of genuine vulnerability.

“Sure,” said Spike. “Ask Buffy some time about how it feels to be abandoned. You’d never be tempted again. I mean, I think you’re a prick, right?”

“Er, right?” said Xander.

“Right,” continued Spike, “but I don’t think you want to hurt Anya. This would  _ eviscerate _ her. You’d never forgive yourself when you saw it.”

Xander took a deep breath and then winced. “I guess I should get this show on the road, then. Can’t stay in this cummerbund much longer.”

Spike slapped him hard on the shoulder and he winced again. “Good lad.”

\---

Spike re-entered the main hall via the double doors and took a second to locate his seat, near growling when he did. Buffy was already in place, but on her opposite side was the prat Xander had tried to set her up with on her birthday. Wanker was looking bashful and Buffy was laughing lightly in response to whatever he’d murmured. Spike slid into his seat and pointedly took Buffy’s hand, linking his fingers with hers and giving fuckboy a glare that had him blushing and looking away.

Spike opened his mouth to say something to Buffy, but she looked past him to where Willow had opened the doors for Xander.

“Sshh!” she said, excitedly. “It’s starting!”


	9. Resolve

Buffy was a little drunk. Not as bad as the night she’d watched Spike play kitten poker, and definitely not as bad as her brief stint as Cave Buffy, but definitely feeling the free champagne. More than that, though, she was high off the second-hand happiness of her friends.

The ceremony had been a success. Xander and Anya had said their vows, none of Xander’s wacky family had started a riot – at least not yet, anyway – Buffy had allowed herself a little cry on Spike’s shoulder while he put his arm around her and smelled amazing and was just genuinely really sweet and it was all beautiful. Buffy had even caught the bouquet (even if Anya had asked for it back, afterward, because she apparently wanted to dry the flowers out and “keep them forever”). That was fine.

Richard hadn’t spoiled anything despite being a little over-friendly as he not-so-subtly laid the groundwork to ask Buffy out again. It was both flattering and super cringeworthy, but Spike seemed to have scared him off. Buffy supposed she should have been indignant about that, for several reasons, and yet she was mostly just relieved. Yes, she’d had enough jealous vampire crap for one lifetime already, and yeah, she could handle things herself, but it was kinda nice that she hadn’t needed to, and Spike _technically_ hadn’t said anything wrong, or even at all, plus he’d settled down completely when Richard walked away, just as soon as the formal part of the wedding was done and the bar opened.

All in all, the day was definitely of the good. And now, they had the evening to enjoy.

“Care to dance, milady?” 

Buffy grinned up at Spike and placed her hand in his outstretched palm. He pulled her to her feet and she stumbled against his chest in a fit of giggles.

“Oh, you’re playing boozehound tonight, are you?”

She walked her fingers across the exposed flesh of his collarbone, peeking out from the three unfastened buttons of his shirt, not caring who might be watching. Buffy had the urge to bite him there – just a little – but held that back. For now, anyway.

“Maybe,” she teased, feeling heat rise in her cheeks.

Spike gazed adoringly at her and her breath caught. Buffy thought she could have stayed in that moment forever, but then something leapt inside her stomach that was definitely not butterflies.

She pressed a finger to Spike’s lips, told him to “hold that thought,” and bolted for the bathroom.

\---

“You okay, Buffy? I think Spike’s looking for you.”

“Huh? Oh.” Buffy raised her face from the sink she’d been using to apply cool water to her cheeks and forehead and smiled weakly at Tara. “Turns out alcohol and me, maybe still not so mixy, but I’ll be okay.”

Tara grinned and turned to the mirror to check her lipstick. “I didn’t imagine you two snuggling out there, did I?”

Buffy bit her lip, trying and failing to suppress a goofy happy face. “It wasn’t _snuggling_. Just, um, you know….”

Tara blinked innocent eyes at her. “What? Totally platonic _leaning_ on each other? Despite the fact that he loves you and you lo–”

Eyes huge with sudden panic, Buffy clapped her hand over Tara’s mouth – effectively ruining the make-up she’d been fixing – and glanced around at the (thankfully empty) bathroom stalls so fast she made her head spin some more. “Shhh!”

Tara laughed around Buffy’s hand and she took it away again.

“Okay, okay. I won’t say the ‘L’ word, but honestly, Buffy! You’ve been–”

“I know, I know!” said Buffy. “I’ve been living with him for like two weeks. Sharing a bed with him for longer. Quiet! I’m pretending you don’t know that.”

“Uh-huh.” Tara gave her _the_ most unconvinced look ever. She wiped the smudges off her mouth and reapplied a fresh coat of gloss while Buffy washed and dried her hands in silence.

\---

Buffy had been gone twenty minutes and Spike was worried. He wouldn’t normally be, because he wasn’t one of those daft blokes who thought women couldn’t ever stand on their own two feet, and Buffy was especially talented at taking care of herself as well as everyone else, but he knew from experience that she and alcohol didn’t have the best relationship, and she’d looked pretty out of it before she ran away.

Also, he might have to come to terms with the fact that he was just a natural worrier when it came to the well-being of the women he loved.

Finally, he spotted her exiting the ladies’ bathroom with Tara and breathed a sigh of relief. He walked toward them only to pause when he caught sight of Buffy’s expression.

He knew he shouldn’t have done it, but when Tara asked, fairly conversationally, “So, when are you gonna put him out of his misery?” Spike couldn’t help his morbid curiosity and decided not to make his presence known to them just yet.

If his heart could beat, it would have been in his mouth as he waited for Buffy’s answer.

“Soon,” she said, with a look of grim determination. “I swear it’ll be soon. Probably not tonight. I just wanna enjoy the rest of the wedding, you know? But I guess maybe tomorrow.”

Tara squeezed Buffy’s arm. “I think that’s for the best. It’s clearly been hard on you both.”

Buffy sighed. “Yeah, I’ve been torturing both of us and it’s not fair. I shouldn’t have been so dumb in the first place and agreed to the stupid bet, but whatever, I’ll end it and we can move on and it’ll be fine. Better than fine! A fresh new start, it’ll be excellent.”

Spike swallowed, or tried to, but the lump that had mystically appeared in his throat choked him. Instinct told him to run outside and scream into the sunset. He wanted to cry and weep and gnash his teeth until all of the stars fell out of the sky, but he didn’t seem to be able to move. His feet were planted to the cheap carpeting as the horror of what he’d just heard washed over him.

Buffy was going to break up with him. She was done with him; finished humoring him and the mere idea that they could be anything to each other beyond… what? They were long past enemies. Had they been friends? He’d thought, for a while, that they had been, but then again, he’d thought a whole lot of stuff that was now clearly bollocks. 

Like the deluded prat he’d always been, he’d hoped for too much and damn near succeeded in convincing himself that everything would work out. That Buffy wanted him. That she might even love him, someday. Maybe even someday soon. 

God, it was too much! Never before had Spike envied mortals their ability to vomit, literally purging upset from deep within. His head spun and he was lost. There was nothing he could do.

Having not seen him, Buffy and Tara continued on their way back into the main hall and away from him. The sight of the Slayer’s back turned towards him and headed in the opposite direction near broke Spike all over again. He couldn’t think, but he needed time to try. To try and at least breathe and put on a good act for the rest of the night, because if it was all gonna end come morning, he wasn’t gonna waste his last few hours with Buffy no matter how much they might kill him.

If he was never going to see her again, he wanted at least a few more memories. He’d never forgive himself, otherwise. What else would he have to think about, once he was gone and alone again? Bloody hell, he’d be brooding like bloody Angel, but there was no other way to picture it. Spike simply could not imagine ever being happy with any existence that meant he’d never get to see Buffy again, but he’d promised her. He’d said he’d go if it all ended up in flames. Stupid bloody buggering fuck that he was, he hadn’t seen this eventuality ever happening. Buffy had warned him. She had. She’d said all along the bet was a bad idea, but he’d been so confident he’d talked her into it.

Spike couldn’t decide when exactly she’d realized their time together wasn’t working. She’d always maintained that was the case, but he’d been so sure he was winning her over. Did that mean he’d been deluded all along? What did it mean that she hadn’t called off the bet before now? She’d never been one to spare his feelings before, and if that hadn’t changed – if nothing during the whole damn experiment had shifted one jot – then why was her behavior different? He couldn’t make sense of it.

Again, Spike replayed the conversation in his head. He might have wondered if he’d maybe picked it up wrong, but they’d certainly been talking about him, because Buffy hadn’t got a bet going with anyone else. No, this was just his brain rebelling, trying to revert back to his blissful delusions.

Spike made his way to the bar on shaky legs, barely aware of what he was doing. He ordered a double whiskey, then another, and was on the point of a third when a small hand came to rest on his elbow.

“There you are! Ready to dance?”

He looked up at Buffy, eyes shining, and took a breath. He could do this. He’d told himself he _would_ do this – just enjoy the rest of the night with her and face tomorrow when it came.

“Sure, pet,” said Spike finally, his voice like gravel.

Buffy gave him a speculative look as he slid off his stool and took her arm. “You okay?”

“Fine,” he said, a little too quickly, his voice suddenly having gone the other way and pitched too high. He cleared his throat. “What about you? Get the drink out of your system?”

“Oh.” Buffy blushed. “Yeah, sorry about that. I’m good to go now.”

“Good.” He led her onto the dance floor and swayed with her automatically, barely registering what song was even playing. Thank god they had a natural rhythm that didn’t need much if any conscious thought to fall into.

Buffy slid her arms around Spike’s neck and leaned in, as if she was smelling his neck like she had done earlier. She sighed out a happy sound and he felt his chest shudder a little. He had to close his eyes to stop himself from… well, he still didn’t know. He still wanted to cry, and scream, and run away. Maybe all three at once, but then he felt Buffy’s breath move to his lips, and felt her press hers to him, both of their mouths parting slightly. Automatically.

He was ravenous, then. Suddenly needing to devour her. Because if he could pull Buffy into himself, nothing would ever have to change, right? They could stay together. A desperation gripped Spike like he’d never before experienced and he made plans to just keep kissing Buffy forever, except the next thing she did was place a hand to his chest and pull back, laughing.

“Wow,” she said, voice giddy. “Intense much?”

Spike stifled a whimper, finally opening his eyes again to look at her. God, she was beautiful. He’d been an idiot to think someone so radiant would ever want him.

Though he hadn’t said anything – he didn’t trust himself – Buffy bit her lip at whatever words must have been written across his face, then took his hand and led him off the dance floor again and into a secluded corner.

“Let’s go home,” she said, smiling shyly as she pet his hair and smoothed down the lapels of his coat and generally ran her hands all over him.

“I… I thought you wanted to enjoy the rest of the evening,” said Spike, lost again.

“I do,” said Buffy, grinning now. “I wanna enjoy it alone, with you.”

Spike swallowed but couldn’t take his eyes off her. They felt huge with a lethal combination of desire and fear. “Right,” he said, voice shaky again.

Outside, they found a string of waiting taxis ready to ferry people homeward. Spike didn’t know who’d had the forethought to arrange such a thing, then idly remembered the hints Xander had always given about coming from a long line of alcoholics.

“Dawn’s gonna ride home with Willow and Tara,” Buffy informed him, as they hopped in the first car in the line. “I think they’ll still be a couple more hours, so we’ll have the place to ourselves for a bit.”

Spike nodded. Buffy hadn’t been kidding earlier when she’d called this whole sorry thing they had torture. He wasn’t at all surprised when she began divesting him of his coat the moment they were in her bedroom, but was left stunned when she whispered, “Make love to me,” right in his ear.

Spike found himself rooted to the floor for the second time that night. 

“What?” she challenged when he didn’t say anything.

_Why_ , he was asking himself. Why had she chosen to phrase it like that now? He supposed because it was the last time. God, the very last time he’d ever get to hold her. Be inside her.

He got her to turn around and slowly unzipped her dress, taking pains to feel every inch of her flesh as it revealed itself to him. Spike helped her step out of the outfit and laid her gently on the bed, lifting one of her feet, then the other and undoing the straps of her sandals.

Buffy was practically vibrating as she looked up at him with hungry eyes, but Spike still wanted to savor the moment. He was in no rush as he undid the buttons of his shirt, took off his shoes and trousers. Finally, he bent his head to Buffy and nuzzled her mons with his nose, breathing her in.

Bloody hell, it was more intoxicating than ever. She moaned and lay back further as he began to lick and explore, tentative at first, then all-consuming as desperation took hold of him once more.

By the time Buffy was quivering and yelling, Spike felt just as frantic as she was. He took three steady breaths, forcing himself to calm before climbing further up the bed and slipping inside her to the hilt.

“Oh, god!” they said in unison. He gave her a moment to get used to the sensation of being filled before he began to move. Each stroke was both torture and bliss. Every time Spike slid most of the way out, he was lost, and each time he buried himself in Buffy again, it was like coming home. He tried hard not to cry and somehow accomplished it.

In the end, when he was content that she was satisfied and he’d spilled his own release, all the words of love and affirmation that he always felt helpless to stop himself vowing to Buffy again and again found their way into his mouth but he bit them back.

He wouldn’t tell her. Not again. There was no point. Yet she was looking at him almost expectantly, and he had to do something, he realized, so he kissed her and began moving again, bringing her off one more time.

Then, as she slept, all satiated and glowing, he picked up his clothes and left.


	10. Winnings

Buffy floated to consciousness slowly. She felt warm and snuggly; happy, safe, and loved. God, it was amazing! It was a scarily intense thought, but it struck her that she would never have experienced any of it if Willow hadn’t brought her back, and that – dare she think it? – might even make it all worth it.

Wow, yeah. That was a trip all right. Mind buzzing slightly, Buffy half-opened one eye to see the time on her alarm clock, which was noon. NOON! How the hell had it gotten so late?

She supposed the alcohol the night before had something to do with it, and her previous early start, and barely sleeping before that because of all the planning stress, and – oh, yeah – only the most amazing sex ever.

Smiling to herself at the memory, Buffy rolled over and reached out her arms, frowning when they only landed on empty sheets.

_Huh._ She sat up a little and looked around. No, Spike definitely wasn’t there. Even his boots were gone, which she took to mean he wasn’t in the shower. _I guess he’s downstairs, probably bickering with Dawn about something. Oh, maybe he’s making me a late breakfast!_

Buffy got up and stretched, pulled on some clothes and went down to investigate. Dawn, as expected, was in the kitchen.

“What happened?” she asked the second she saw Buffy, and something in her tone set alarm bells ringing.

Buffy put a hand to her hair, hoping she hadn’t ended up with sperm or something equally gross or tell-talely in it. “Happened? What do you mean?”

“With Spike,” Dawn clarified.

“Oh.” Buffy grinned. “We, um….” This was it, the first time she got to tell someone now everything was finally okay. “Spike and I are together.” She waited for a look of excitement to bloom across her sister’s face, but it only clouded in confusion. “We’re dating,” Buffy spelled out, annoyed that her special moment had been sullied by incomprehension.

“Duh,” said Dawn. “I knew that. I just wondered why he left so early this morning.”

Buffy felt the smile slip off her face. “You saw him go? Where did he go?”

Dawn crossed her arms. “That’s what I’m asking you. I thought maybe you’d had a fight.”

“A fight?” Panic started to thunder in Buffy’s chest. “Why would you think that?”

Dawn’s face was a picture of horror and apprehension. “He, uh, had an overnight bag. A-and he didn’t say anything – he ignored me when I tried to talk to him – but I… I’m pretty sure he was crying.”

Buffy stared at her sister, entirely speechless. What was she talking about? Was this a joke? Dawn definitely didn’t look like she was joking. The proper thing to do was probably to sit her down and ask her again, very calmly and carefully, exactly what she saw, but of course Buffy was way too on edge for that. She had the very strong urge to hit herself in the head. _Come on, think! What am I missing?_

Spike had seemed kind of… _off_ the night before, now she thought about it. Not the whole time, but definitely after she’d overdone it on the champagne. Buffy didn’t think she’d accidently said anything to him – she wasn’t so drunk that she wouldn’t have remembered that – but had she maybe done something to upset him? He hadn’t said anything about being upset, but then he hadn’t really said anything at all. Not even when she…. Buffy swallowed. She’d asked him to make love to her. Those words were definitely etched into her memory. Had… had they spooked him? Had she left it too late to tell him how she felt, and he’d realized he wasn’t that interested anymore? No. He’d said that wouldn’t happen. He’d promised!

_Oh, god!_ A horrible, sickly feeling spread over Buffy. Spike had indeed promised not to leave… except, you know, in that one circumstance where she made him promise the exact opposite. _If_ he lost the bet.

But he hadn’t lost! He’d won! She’d even slept with him to prove it.

“Oh, god!” This time she groaned out loud. She’d insisted on making sex part of the deal. And she hadn’t opened her mouth and actually told him he’d won. She’d just expected him to read her mind like he always did. _I am such an idiot!_

“Um, Buffy?” said Dawn. “Maybe you should, uh, sit down? You don’t look so good.”

She shook her head. “Not good, but no time for sitting. When did you say he’d gone? What time?”

“I, uh….” Dawn bit her lip.

“What time?!” demanded Buffy. She was yelling and Dawn looked scared, which was the only thing holding Buffy back from shaking her.

“I– I don’t know. It was before sunrise. I was just getting water and I–”

Buffy ran past her to the phone and speed dialed the first number in Emergency Contacts. “Dawn, get Willow and Tara down here now,” she commanded while the call connected.

Terror written all over her face, Dawn ran and did as she asked.

“Hello?”

“Xander! Oh, thank god you haven’t left!”

“We’re just heading out on the honeymoon now. What’s up?”

“I need a ride.”

There was a pause on the end of the line. “Buffy, I… I’m about to leave on my honeymoon. What’s wrong?”

Her stomach fell, because how was she supposed to explain herself? It wasn’t even like her friend even knew she was in a relationship. “Listen,” she said after a moment, “I don’t know how to say this in a way that’ll make you understand, and I don’t have a lot of time. Just, please, come over. I’m freaking out here.”

“Okay,” said Xander in his best I’m-trying-to-soothe-you-but-now-you’ve-got- _me_ -freaked tone of voice. “Where do you need to go?”

Tara and Willow entered the kitchen at the same moment Xander posed the question, so Buffy told all three of them at once, “I need a locator spell.”

Everything moved fast after that. Xander, though still sounding completely bewildered, vowed to be there soon, Willow and Tara broke out the relevant magical ingredients while Dawn looked on and Buffy grabbed her keys, coat, and wallet. Spike could be anywhere by now. He’d gotten god-only-knew how many hours of a head start, and Buffy knew he drove faster when he was upset. If he ended up as a big pile of dust, she was gonna kill him.

\---

Spike was driving at top speed. Music from the DeSoto’s tape deck was blaring as loud as it could go, and he couldn’t really see between the sun, the mostly covered windows, and all the tears in his eyes. They wouldn’t stop, no matter what he did, so he’d eventually given up trying to fight the misery. He was drowning in it and he didn’t damn well care anymore. If he just so happened to crash, break the windshield, and douse himself in sunlight then maybe he’d be better off.

_Bloody wanker, that’s what I am. Did this to myself, I did. Maybe Dru was right, and I’ve been heading for a dusty end ever since setting eyes on the Slayer._ He could understand the anger of his sire, from his perspective now. After all, he’d pretty much signed his own sodding death warrant. One way or another, he had. Because even if he didn’t burn up, what kind of life could he have? He was chipped, whipped, and lovesick. How the hell could such a sorry creature make its way in the world? He didn’t cope well alone, but that’s exactly what he was. Maybe what he’d always been.

Spike didn’t even know where he was going. Literally, as well as figuratively. He’d just started out in the direction the car had been facing when he’d happened to park it last, and now here he was with nothing but desert all around him for miles.

Just as he spared a thought for his fuel tank and attempted a mental calculation to help best estimate the distance to the nearest gas station, the engine began to splutter.

“No. _No!_ ” This couldn’t be happening. Spike slapped his dashboard but the dial didn’t move. It was still saying he had a bit more petrol. It should have been enough. Or near enough. What were the bloody chances something would go wrong just as he entertained the possibility of it? Was that it? Was he cursed, somehow, bringing his own worst imaginings into reality? _Would be just my sodding luck._

One more slap of the dashboard and the engine cut off entirely, only momentum carrying the car on a little further down the road. The sudden absence of music made Spike’s ears ring.

_God fucking damn it!_ He beat his head against the steering wheel, making the horn sound. Chipped, whipped, lovesick, and now trapped as well. At least until nightfall, which was still hours away.

Spike’s tears of sadness turned to tears of frustration before finally – _finally!_ – they stopped coming all together. He hadn’t known vampires could dehydrate themselves, but all of the moisture in his body having been used up seemed to be the most logical conclusion for what happened. He still had the instinct to cry, and he most certainly still had the motivation – Spike really couldn’t envision that going away any time in the next century – so it had to be some purely biological phenomenon.

Certainly, his heart felt shriveled, but, well, that went with the territory of being undead. Or was supposed to. Vampires were never supposed to _feel_ , not like he did. _Maybe I really am cursed. Me and Peaches have got shit in common after all._

At that thought, Spike began searching the glovebox for booze. He found a half-bottle of Jack Daniels in there with just a smidge in the bottom. The footwell of the passenger side had a third of a bottle of cider, and somewhere in the back he located a beer of questionable age and origin that he saved for last, on account of it being practically stewed inside its glass bottle in the overheated car.

Again, he felt sick, but again he could do nothing with the impulse, so he sat with it, the vile cocktail of booze and disgust churning in his stomach until, at some point, he fell into a dreamless sleep.

\---

There was some kind of noise. Not buzzing, exactly, maybe something vaguely mechanical, though Spike’s sleep-addled brain initially assumed there must be some kind of insect or other circling him. He tried waving it off, which only succeeded in making him hit his elbow off the driver’s door.

“Shit!” That had hurt. He shifted awkwardly on his side, which wasn’t easy with his feet still tangled either side of the steering column. He tried to get back to sleep, but next came the sound of his name, distantly at first, then stronger.

“Spike?”

“Fuck off!” He was hallucinating. Stupid gone-off beer and bastarding subconscious must have teamed up to torture him, because damn if the voice didn’t sound like hers. Had he not suffered enough? Did he deserve this?

That thought gave him pause as a several lifetime’s worth of murder and mayhem swam to the forefront of his mind. Spike sighed. Yeah, he did deserve this. And a whole lot more besides. _Best just get used to it._

“Spike?”

He sat up and squinted around the car, because that time the voice sounded close. There was a knock at the window, then the door cracked open and the last rays of sunset crept in, making Spike hiss and retreat the rest of the way back to the driver’s side. _What in the hell?_

“Sorry, sorry!” said Buffy.

It was Buffy. Actually Buffy. She slipped in beside him and closed the door again. “Geeze, Spike!” She coughed. “I’d say crack a window, but I guess you can’t.”

He stared at her and she stopped and looked back at him, her face a picture of relief and apprehension, like she was waiting for something.

Spike tried valiantly for words, eventually getting out, “A-are you–?” before she launched herself at him, lips finding his face and fists hammering his chest. He took hold of her arms and pressed her tight to him, stilling both. Solid. She was solid. She smelled like Buffy. Like life.

“Buffy?”

She pulled back a little to look at him. It was then he saw the tears in her eyes. “I’m trying really hard not to slap you,” she said.

“Buffy?” he said again. It was all he could think. All he could process. She was there. She was real. But how? Why? “Buffy, I don’t–”

“Don’t you ever, _ever_ scare me like that again!” she continued, eyes wild and breath thready. When speech failed Spike again, she shook her head. “Spike, you didn’t lose!” she said.

“Didn’t–? I didn’t?” That didn’t make a lick of sense.

“No,” said Buffy, exasperated. “I love you, you idiot!”

Something in his brain must have shorted out. Everything in the world had gone sideways.

“Spike?” Buffy said again, hesitantly now. She sighed and settled herself better into the seat beside him. “I guess I should maybe start at the beginning.”

He nodded slowly, terror rippling all through him, and she took her time before starting in on explaining that when she’d slept with him – when she’d given herself to him the night before– she’d thought he’d know that she was ready to stop playing and go “all in” with him at last.

“But,” he said, pausing to wet his lips, “–but what you said. To Tara.”

“Tara?” Buffy questioned. She looked at him curiously for a moment before her eyes went wide, the rest of her body coiled with tension. “Please tell me you didn’t put me through hell because you overheard something wrong.”

“ _You_ through hell?” exclaimed Spike. “I’ve been–! I thought– oh, bloody hell!” He grabbed her again and kissed her deep before a sob escaped him and he pulled back a little and pressed his forehead to hers, just breathing her in. “Buffy!”

She softened in his grip, all of her indignation clearly having worn off, or been set aside. In a positively tiny voice she said, “You really thought I’d want you to go?”

He looked at her steadily, then, still stricken. “Isn’t that what we said?”

Buffy smiled sadly. “We said a lot of things, Spike. What if….” She paused and took his hand, linking their fingers. “How about we start again?”

Spike kissed her again, still too caught up for words. _Of course_ it was yes. How could it ever be anything else? He’d thought it was over – that _everything_ was over – yet here she was. Here _they_ were, together. Bloody hell! He still had a million questions – so much to sort out in his head – but all that could wait. He kissed her and kissed her and got so wonderfully, blissfully lost.

Buffy. He had _Buffy!_ Spike pet her hair and felt her hands on his chest again, except probing now. Exploring; pushing his coat off his shoulders and pulling his shirt up. Spike shifted, pressing her down onto the seat, ready to get lost in a whole different way when a horn sounded and they both jumped, cracking heads.

“Oh,” said Buffy, pressing a hand to her forehead and blushing furiously. “I guess the gang are waiting for us.”

“Eh?”

At some point, the sun had gone the rest of the way down, though Spike had no idea how far in the past that point had been, exactly. He blinked at Buffy, briefly wondering what planet they were on.

“Come see,” she said, taking his hand again and pulling him with her outside the car. The cool air hit him and he closed his eyes to bask in it after being cooped up for so long. A moment or three later, Spike looked in the direction of where Buffy was waving and found, parked behind his DeSoto, Xander and Anya in the front seat of Harris’ car, Willow and Tara in the back.

“Xander drove me out here,” explained Buffy. “Tara did a tracking spell, and Willow made your car stop.”

Spike turned to her. “You? The engine dying? That was _you_?!”

Buffy bit her lip. “It was Willow,” she repeated, “but, um, yeah. I got her to do it. We couldn’t catch up, otherwise.”

He continued to stare at her, mouth hanging open. While all the pieces of that slotted into place in his head, the Witch herself got out of Xander’s car and walked over. She gave Buffy a questioning look, looking visibly relieved when the Slayer gave her a thumbs up. And just like that, she zapped the DeSoto back to life – setting Spike’s tape deck blaring again – and left them to it. She got back in Xander’s car, he started it up, and began driving away, but not before giving Spike a look placed somewhere between understanding and grudging acceptance.

Spike turned back to Buffy. “You told them,” he said, matter-of-factly, no matter that he could barely process it.

“I told them,” affirmed Buffy. She was grinning and simultaneously looking coy. “That was the deal, right?”

He shook his head, still stunned.

“This is real,” said Buffy. “And I meant what I said before.”

“Before?” he questioned.

She looked down at her feet for a second but was still smiling. Spike placed a finger under her chin to tilt her face back towards him. Her cheeks were pink and warm and eyes were bright, illuminated by the light that had come on in the interior of the car and was spilling out through the open door and into the night. The song changed to something slower, as if by magic.

Buffy was staring right to the core of him. “I love you, Spike.”

His breath caught. So, he hadn’t imagined that. She’d said it. She – god, the expression on her face! – she bloody well _meant_ it.

“Oh, Buffy!” Spike pulled her to his chest again and they kissed and kissed and kissed before she whispered the same magical words she’d used the night before. The ones that should have made him realize he’d got the wrong end of the bloody stick.

“Make love to me,” she said.

And he did.

Spike picked Buffy up in his arms and carried her to the front of the car, where he laid her on the hood and slowly undressed her, his own clothes dropping to the dirt at his feet.

“Buffy,” he said as he slid between her knees and she sighed against him. “I love you. I’m never, _ever_ gonna leave you. I swear it.”

She spread her thighs a little bit wider to accommodate him and arched her back to guide him home. “Me too,” she vowed. “Not going anywhere. I love you!”

_God!_ The heat of her seared him and he’d never been so happy. Slowly, he began to move, opening himself up and offering her each piece of him he had to give. Buffy took it all, moaning and grinding and making mewling noises as she stared up at the stars and brought his mouth to her throat.

“Bloody hell, Buffy!” He licked her soft flesh and gently bit into it with blunt teeth. “This is perfect. _You’re_ perfect! Let’s–” He was getting carried away with himself again, but he didn’t care. “Let’s do this forever.”

“Do you think we could?” she asked, and he could hear the smile in her voice as they continued to move, Spike not knowing where he ended and she began.

“We could,” he said, feeling the wave of possibility crash over him, pulling him deeper into bliss.

Buffy laughed and pressed herself closer still. “You wanna bet?”


	11. Epilogue: True Happy

“There.” Buffy dropped Spike’s hand and then manhandled him so he was facing the booth she’d gotten set up. “We’re here.”

“I can take the blindfold off now?”

“Yep!”

He grinned as he slowly untied it, his uncovered blue eyes shining with delight as he looked deep into Buffy’s soul. “Hello, beautiful.”

Heat rose to her cheeks. “Spike,” she whispered, “you’re supposed to be looking around, not at me!”

He pointedly took in his surroundings, dramatically affecting surprise. “Wow, we’re in a diner!”

Buffy nudged him in the ribs. “You already guessed, huh?”

“Knew as soon as we pulled up outside.” He tapped the side of his nose. “Not got a bad sense of direction, you know.”

She sighed, but it was good natured.

“Place looks great, love,” Spike assured her, and she smiled. He’d humored her, and said she was beautiful, so she’d rein in the desire to snark at him. Mostly.

“You like the candles? And the tablecloths? I got them put out especially.”

Spike gazed at her adoringly, then leaned in for a kiss. “’Course I like the candles” 

“And the tablecloths?” Buffy pressed.

He chuckled. “Yeah, and the sodding tablecloths.”

They sat down and held hands across the table, like they were in a movie or something. The whole thing was cheesy and sweet and Buffy could not have imagined herself wanting anything like this not that long ago, especially with Spike, but here they were and she loved it. She looked at him, sitting there still grinning, and felt her heart flutter. _Oh, yeah, I love it a lot._

He ran the slip of silk between his fingers. “We’re keeping the blindfold, are we? Could have a spot of fun later.”

“Spike!”

He chuckled again, the sound deep and rich. “What?”

“Sssh!” She was gonna turn fully beet-red at this rate, and that wouldn’t do, because she wanted to snap some really nice photos at some point. Thankfully, the waitress appeared before Spike could say anything else to happily derail Buffy’s carefully laid plans.

In front of him the waitress placed onion blossoms in three different sizes, a cup of hot chocolate with mini marshmallows, and a bowl of Weetabix with otter’s blood mixed in. At this, he finally took on the look of surprise Buffy had been waiting for.

Once the waitress set out Buffy’s pre-ordered soup, bread roll, and a spoon, and left the table again, Spike wondered aloud how the diner had agreed to such an unusual menu.

Buffy shrugged. “This is Sunnydale. Plus, I tip well, and I did sort out a demon problem for them last week. They had some small, scaly things feeding off their trash.”

Spike beamed at her like she was the most brilliant creature in the universe, and she had to prod him to focus on his food before it got cold. When the plates were mostly clear, Buffy then announced she had some good news.

“Oh?” Spike tilted his head to the side. “What’s this, then?”

She smiled at him again, which she’d been doing a lot since their inadvertent road trip. “You know how Xander’s got a new construction gig?”

“The new high school,” said Spike, nodding. “You’re gonna help out? I thought you’d tried that before and weren’t keen.”

“I’m not,” said Buffy. “No beam carrying required. I’ll be doing security.”

Spike raised an eyebrow and paused, as if considering the prospect.

“It’s only for the summer,” Buffy continued. “At least to begin with. I’m gonna give it a go and see how I like it.”

“Aha,” said Spike, sagely. “A trial, it is?”

“Kinda,” said Buffy. “Some circumstances recently made me realize that I don’t need to figure out my whole life all at once. I can try things and then go from there.”

Spike pointed his spoon at her. “Downright wise, that is! You should give whoever came up with that little pearl of wisdom a prize. A medal of some sort, perhaps.”

Buffy laughed. “You’re such a dork.”

“Yeah, and you love it,” said Spike.

“It just so happens,” said Buffy, pulling something out of her jacket pocket, “that I do love it.”

Spike stopped teasing as he considered the small box she’d set in front of him. “What’s this, then?”

She shrugged again, but it wasn’t so casual this time. Mainly because she was internally freaking out. “You said you wanted a prize, and I just so happened to have prepared one earlier.”

He flicked his eyes from the box up to meet her gaze and held it.

“Go on,” said Buffy, “open it.” Her fingers were getting twitchy. She just needed to see his reaction already.

Ever so slowly, and without a word, Spike popped open off the lid of the box and took out the contents, turning it over in his long fingers. It was a key to Revello Drive, attached to a keychain with a smiling photo of Dawn and Buffy on one side, and Joyce on the other. Rolled up and slotted through the circular part of the keychain was a scrap of paper that asked, “How about I help you move the rest of your stuff?”

Buffy could tell the moment Spike reached the end of the sentence because, even though he didn’t move or say anything, his eyes brightened even more. She stood up and went over to his side of the booth, at which point he opened his arms and she folded herself into his embrace.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice infused with a sense of awe that warmed Buffy from the inside out.

“I love you,” she whispered against his lips. “Happy One Month Anniversary!”


End file.
